#Half-Blood culture

[several-breathing-eyes]

Do you think nicknames are a big thing in demigod culture?

There are lots of cultures where nicknames hold a lot of importance, like your family has a specific nickname they call you and your friends have a different specific thing they call you.

And in the world of pjo names/titles have power.

So maybe even more names/titles you have the more powerful you are. Like Poseidon also being known as Earth shaker and stormbringer, Nico being the ghost king, and Hylla earning the name Hylla twice kill.

So in demigod culture nicknames are a way to show you love someone but also a way to try to imbue them with power so that they'll be more likely to survive.

So for a demigod maybe there would be a specific nickname that demigod is called by their siblings (I'm pretty sure Luke calls Annabeth "Annie" at one point so maybe that's what her siblings call her?), a few nicknames used by friends (like when Piper and Leo called Jason Golden boy or sparky), and a nickname reserved for a demigod's significant other (seaweed brain and wise girl).

There's also the whole "don't name it or you'll get attached" concept that could factor in, considering how often demigods die.

So giving someone a nickname in demigod culture is a way of saying "I care about you, I want you to survive, so I'm going to run the risk of getting attached"

It would also explain why every time a new friend is made in pjo a nickname is one of the first things they get.

@fairytalepsuedonym

[asocial-skye]

as the holidays come to a close, i'm left to wonder....

how does religion work in the pjo universe?

[birdsong-warriors]

SwiFT, WE CAN SEE YOU.

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Part 1: Friend and Family

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[anophelei]

The people unashamedly trying to take advantage of the thousands of innocent Palestinian people murdered in Israeli war crimes, twisting the knife in the back of Palestine for an opportunity to remind you that you still have to vote for Joe Biden, undoubtedly counting among the people with the most blood on their hands, have already made it clear they do not care about anyone but themselves, and have gone out of their way to prove it.

Somehow they've managed to sink even lower, and are genuinely, in all earnesty, justifying their continued support for Biden in the wake of him pledging his unconditional support of genocide, with the exact same fucking line they used almost 3 fucking years ago to pressure people into voting him into power in the first place. It was already obvious they had no intention of "Pushing Biden to the Left", that they didn't give a single shit about any of the people they were so ardently claiming to be protecting from Trump, and that they would go to the ends of the earth to justify anything and everything he could possibly do.

And now that he's chomping at the bit about aiding and abetting Israel in raining down hell and phosphorous and napalm on innocent people, now that thousands of people have lost their loved ones to such irreverent cruelty, they've decided it's time for an important reminder; Genocide doesn't change anything, and not only do you have to get out and vote for someone complicit in every single atrocity, every single casualty, you have to do it for the same pathetic excuse we made last time, "because we can push Biden to the "left"", even though there hasn't been a single shred of progress, or even any attempt to do so in the three years since we said this last time. You could say that participation in actual, ongoing genocide, is a catastrophic failure in that metric; that we might as well have been pulling this whole fucking time; and right this very moment is the most unbelievably selfish, entitled, petulant and self interested, and abhorrent, manipulative, cruel, spiteful, bitter and fucking disgusting time anyone could have possibly chosen to say this, when people are entirely cut off from their loved ones with no way to know if they are okay, it's important to remember that you're the bad person here due to your belief that supporting genocide in any capacity is an unforgivable crime. The real crime is NOT voting in support of genocide, when the other option is Literal Fascists !!

I'm not even fucking joking, this entire thing started because this piece of shit thought a Palestinian calling people out for supporting Biden was akin to "thinking the entirety of one side is bad", which due to a complex reasoning and nuanced understanding of "this conflict", he was able to realise that was far too simplistic, and now enlightened, knew that attacking enemy toddlers was wrong. So too did he share his nuanced and complex understanding with OP, since they were understanding things too simplistically. "American politics is not that simple either"

Just like killing babies is wrong even if they're on the enemy team, American politics is not as simple as you thinking I am disgusting and selfish for supporting genocide. #nuance

[lilflowerpot]

Hey there Flower! I hope all is well with you and that you’re having a wonderful day💜 I wanted to send in an ask because I recently had this realization and did some research and found out that the act of crying is a “uniquely human trait”. This got me thinking if the galra cry too? Let me explain a bit, so as far as I know other animals are capable of shedding tears but it’s not an emotional response so much as there might be something wrong/in their eyes.

We’ve seen that alteans can cry! But I wonder about the galra because I don’t believe we’ve seen any of them cry (not even Krolia).

I wasn’t sure if you’ve been asked this before or not and I tried my best looking to see if you have but the only post I saw relating was about the differences in galra/human anatomy and it did mention their eyes!

So with this information…can galra cry as an emotional response? If they can’t, what’s their reaction to humans doing it?

(Also please correct me if I’m wrong for any of the statements I made! I’m also aware that you’ve mentioned before that we will be seeing “Lotor tears” in the future of LB but we could say that he’s able to cry because of his altean half?)

Okay so first of all I love you for diligently scouring my blog to see if I'd already answered this question (I have not) your consideration is greatly appreciated ♡

Secondly, while I was aware than humans are the only known organism that cry from emotion, and we do indeed know that Alteans can cry as proven by s1ep09, I hadn't really considered whether or not the galra are a species were in the same boat,,, only that Lotor himself has to be because not only did I have him become teary-eyed in the most recent chapter—

“Is that enough?” the question scrapes ragged and ruinous against the silence that surrounds them. “Truthfully,” the prince admits, “I do not know.” and, with a start, Keith realises that summer-sky eyes are near as glassy as his own, “Though, if anything is to be your downfall, would you not rather it be love?” - Little Blade, chapter 24

—but I have Plans™ for his future that demand it.

That being said, when I think about it, it really doesn't make an awful lot of sense for the galra to cry from emotion due to Daibazaal having been such an arid planet that any unnecessary loss of fluid would have been a distinct evolutionary weakness for them, and so would likely have been evolved out (if ever it was something they were capable of in the first place). This, of course, begs the question: what displays of sorrow/emotional distress do the galra have?

As a direct result of this ask, I've once again expanded upon my galra body language post, adding to the "bad noises" bullet point:

Though they cannot cry tears as humans do, the galra expression of grief is—according to those who've heard it—one of the most harrowing sounds in the known universe; the drehvi is a distinctly mournful vocalisation unique to the galra people, taking the form of a raw, guttural, bellowing wail that stems from deep within the chest cavity and can be heard from up to half a league away.

If you can imagine the noise a bear might make upon suffering a sudden but mortal wound, and that sound echoing across an otherwise silent valley devoid of all life,,, that would be the drehvi.

So........... on that not-at-all-heartbreaking note, you also asked for the galra reaction to humans crying, which I am going to keep much lighter (because I am internally weeping now goddammit) so I'd have to say it's likely a mixture of confused and alarmed, because the human is,,, leaking?? Are humans supposed to do that?? Their breathing has also become remarkably erratic and hiccupy which is almost certainly Not Good if they do not regulate their oxygen intake they will DIE because humans are SMALL and FRAGILE, but they are also not currently in a state to explain themselves nor how to help??

[endversewinchester]

Walburga Black, child abuse and other pureblood family customs.

Sometime back I got an ask asking me to gauge how likely it was that Walburga was physically abusive to Sirius. At the time I said very likely, despite us not having book evidence openly stating that that’s what it was.

Now that I’ve moved on on my re read to half blood Prince, we got to see the inside of a pureblood family, and my suspicions have grown tenfold. Let’s take a look:

As you guys know if you’ve read the books, the Gaunt are the direct heirs of Salazar Slytherin, and these particular characters are Voldemort’s grandfather, mother, and uncle. Essentially, the top of the wizarding world pureblood elite in terms of lineage.

We know it is important for most of the sacred 28 to maintain customs and lineage, and we absolutely see that pattern on the house of Black, so odds are the traditions and behavioral pattern here were more or less the same on all of these households, to a varying level of violence. And we met Walburga’s portrait. And she was not any better in terms of verbal abuse than this guy is.

Dumbledore proceeds to tell us the violent behavior is caused by inbreeding, which is also a pattern at the Black’s, and which Sirius is a direct product of, mind you.

What I am getting at, is that /this/, with the canon material we have, seems uncanny like the kind of life Sirius would have led at home. The difference here are their personalities. Merope’s no squib. She is simply terrified of her father and his abuse, to the extent her magic doesn’t work properly. Sirius otoh fought back.

See? There’s an intimate connection between verbal and physical abuse. The only difference here between the Gaunt and the Black is I believe the Black would not be so careless in front of ministry officials. They were believers of maintaining their public image. But here’s where it matters the most:

We know Sirius hung out with all sorts of people, including muggle borns (Lily and Remus). And we know he was a firm believer of wizard equality. This conversation could very easily be taking place between Walburga/Orion, Kreacher (or Regulus as he was growing up in canon) and Sirius.

….And that convo led straight to physical abuse. What did her dad call her? Blood traitor? Same thing the Walburga portrait called Sirius? Oh yeah.

So in response to the og anon ask. Yes. Yes, there’s a 99% chance sirius was physically abused by his mom (probably both his parents). And interestingly, we got to take a glimpse at how the ministry feels about child abuse.

Keep in mind that Merope was physically and verbally assaulted multiple times by her father in front of a ministry officer. Yet the only type of assault that counted was that on the ministry officials, and of the muggles (reason the officer was there in the first place).

The ministry does not seem to care at all about child abuse on any capacity, and I believe that is a loophole most pureblood families throughly explored. I am convinced that Walburga herself definitely did as well, as Sirius had the habit of misbehaving and fighting back.

[objectum-culture-is]

"Here she is!!

This is the best picture I have right now that doesn't show too much

This day we had went to a friends house and we cuddled and slept together on the couch ^w^

I love her so much and I'm so happy we can spend time together"

---

She's so pretty!!! I'm so glad you guys are so happy together!!! I wish yall all the best 😁

[losttranslator]

like most Christian movies risen is cheesy and biblically dubious at times and gets loads of cultural stuff wrong for the sake of being recognizable to a primarily American audience but I'll readily admit the poor roman tribune's absolute bafflement at these religious weirdos who keep talking about love and stuff has me cackling unhingedly

Like, is it sound biblical doctrine and is it historical believable? No? Is it hilarious and do I enjoy seeing this random shmuck lose his mind going through what's essentially a very disturbing psychological thriller from his pov while the disciples are overflowing with joy? You bet??

The guy is dealing with horrifyingly decomposed dead bodies trying to find the right cadaver and previously sane soldiers going crazy and dead men being spotted alive and strange supernatural phenomena and angry gods and unexplained madness and religious fanatism spreading like a contagion, and meanwhile the disciples (and Jesus) are all like HELLO BROTHER WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT THE BEST NEWS EVER :D :D :D

[misclogarts]

asian parents will literally do everything except get their kid therapy (devotion 2019)

[tagaloak]

i want to talk about certain aspects of lo'ak's personality (rough, reckless) and how it affects canon scenes, as well as other na'vi.

in the comics, he attempted his iknimaya (rite of passage into adulthood/manhood) with an ikran, but the rite ultimately failed because the bond failed. the ikran bit him, and lo'ak fell, blacked out (overprotective, jake refused to permit him to try again; causing an argument with neytiri over how much of the na'vi traditions they would teach their children).

the only reason an ikran would hurt lo'ak is because the bond was not compatible. too rough. too forceful.

in another scene (in avatar: the way of water), this time while he is learning to ride an ilu, tsireya has to emphasize: "make the bond gently."

this is an important exchange, because it implies that tsireya was already aware of lo'ak's problem. earlier, he had ogled her. much earlier than that, kiri had called him "penis-face" when they were children, which jake immediately had to shut down.

it adds a greater depth to his bond with payakan, a tulkun. the bonding first had to be made without a kuru, where lo'ak even learned the metkayina's sign language with tsireya (according to a deleted scene/script, but it's pretty much implied that they learned signing from her since she is the sully siblings' teacher) in order to properly sign "friends".

lo'ak's dynamic with tsireya, who was extremely patient with him, and payakan, a traumatized tulkun who saw a rare kinship in lo'ak, are the most important relationships within the metkayina that he has. they taught him to be gentle with eywa. tsireya believed in him (and by extension, the sully family), despite himself.

were it not for tsireya, he might have never bonded with payakan. were it not for payakan, he would never have known what it meant to truly be na'vi. to truly be metkayina.

[the-diseased-one]

damn even the way the two camps are named mirrors their cultures. camp jupiter is named after a god in a show of devotion to their purpose: serving the gods. camp half-blood is named for its inhabitants because that is its purpose: serving the demigods.

[silentt-angel]

to love and to kill – chapter 1

summary: Draco Malfoy has been tasked with fixing a magical wardrobe and killing Albus Dumbledore. But he isn't the only Slytherin who received a task from The Dark Lord that summer - Magnolia Stellifer has to make sure that Draco doesn’t fail, and if he does, she has to finish what he started... An enemies to lovers retelling of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. pairing: draco malfoy x oc

1. A Beginning 

Sunday 1st September 1996

To say that Draco Malfoy was annoyed, would have been an understatement. He had only been at Station 9¾ for a total of seven minutes, and he was already cold, his new shoes were making his feet hurt and he was beginning to regret skipping breakfast that morning – just like his mother had told him he would. As if that wasn’t enough, some snotty first year student was wailing about something loudly right next to him. Had Draco’s mother not been standing beside him, he would have definitely hexed the boy into oblivion by now. Since she was, though, he settled for imagining all the things he could do to the boy with a single spell. His list was getting quite impressive.

There was something that was gnawing at the back of his mind that was annoying him far more than all of this, though – Draco missed his father. 

And he didn’t like it. 

Lucius Malfoy had never been the warmest of people, and certainly not the warmest of fathers. He could be stern and demanding and strict, but he was Draco’s father, and since Draco started Hogwarts six years prior, Lucius had been there every single year to see him off. It felt strange not to have him there. It made Draco feel like things really were changing. 

It also made him feel like a soppy git. 

Draco didn’t think he would care, and going back to Hogwarts was usually accompanied by a buzz of excitement he was certain would drown out any other emotions. This year the feeling was nowhere to be found. Instead, all Draco felt was a strange emotion he couldn’t quite put a name to.

Needless to say, so far, his day was going pretty shit. 

“Are you sure you have everything you need packed, dear?” Draco’s mother asked him, straightening the collar of his cloak. 

Any sign of summer had disappeared completely with the start of September. Everything was already cold and grey. The wind tugged at his mother’s hair angrily, blowing the black and white strands. 

It felt fitting. Having the sun shine over him brightly all summer felt sacrilegious. 

“Yes, mother. You’ve asked me that thrice since we got here.”

“I just want to make sure,” Narcissa said softly, drawing her hands away from him. 

Draco mustered up a weak smile. 

“I need you to be careful.”

“I will,” Draco assured her.

“I mean it,” his mother said. “I won’t lie to you, dear – I’m worried about you. What you are doing is extremely dangerous, so I need you to promise me that you will be careful .”

Draco swallowed thickly. “I promise,” he said. 

He hated having conversations like this with his mother, and they were having an awful lot of them as of late.

“And remember: the only person you can talk to about this in that castle is Severus. He is the only one who you can trust. Understood?”

Draco pursed his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his mother use such a harsh tone with him. He didn’t fault her. Her husband was in Azkaban, and now her only son was risking the same fate. 

He wished his mother didn’t know about the task. Wished that he could at least take this burden from her. 

“Understood.” 

Narcissa’s eyes softened again. “I'm going to miss you very much, Draco.”

“I hate to leave you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She smiled. “I shall manage just fine. I always do. Now,” she smoothed out her dark skirt, “I believe I have just spotted the Stellifers. Let us go and say hello and then you should be on your way.”

Draco felt the stares that followed him as they walked. He was used to people looking at him. He was a Malfoy, after all; everyone knew who he was since he was a tiny baby. This felt very different, though.

Death Eater. 

Scum. 

He’ll be joining Lucius soon.

Bastard should have got much worse.

Hope he rots in Azkaban like his daddy.

Insults were hurled at him in hushed tones.

“Do not listen to them.” His mother pulled him closer, shooting daggers with her eyes at anyone who looked their way. “They will find something new to gossip about soon.”

Draco replied with a low hum. “Unlikely,”  he said. “But I’m not concerning myself with what some mudbloods have to say about us, and you shouldn’t either, mother.”

“It does not bother me when it is me they are talking about,” Narcissa frowned. A faint line appeared between her brows. “But I hate it when they speak about my boy that way. You are right, though. We must not bother ourselves with that type of nonsense. People will always talk.”

To Draco, it sounded like his mother was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him.

“It’s fine. I don’t care, really,” he said.

It didn’t feel good, but Draco was slowly getting used to it. He had to. Since his father had been sent to Azkaban, Draco couldn’t cross the street without hearing the words ‘Death Eater’ being spat at him. There was no point denying it or saying anything, really. It’s not like they were entirely wrong, either. 

“Now,” his mother smiled at him, “please try to look a bit less miserable for the next few minutes.”

Draco scoffed but mustered up a neutral expression. 

“Leonidas! Idris! Lovely to see you as always,” his mother greeted the Stellifers politely. “You too, Magnolia.”

Draco shook Mr.Stellifer’s hand and sent Magnolia and her mother a polite nod as they exchanged pleasantries. 

“Doesn’t time just fly? When did your Magnolia grow into such a wonderful young woman?” his mother gushed.

“Isn’t she just precious?” Idris Stellifer cooed, pleased at the compliment, a hint of French in her accent. 

It took a lot of effort for Draco to stifle a laugh.

He had only seen Magnolia once the entire summer, at the annual ball her mother organised. It was probably the longest they had gone without eachothers company their entire lives. Draco considered it one of the major advantages of the Dark Lord’s return. 

She looked the same as her had remembered her, in her brown overcoat. Maybe a bit older. A bit more tanned with a few light freckles decorating her slender nose that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps her hair had grown a bit over the summer too – it fell over her shoulders in long, dark curls. 

Draco felt his mother nudge him gently and realised he hadn’t been listening to the conversation at all. 

“Your Draco has had to mature incredibly these last few months, hasn’t he? Step up and be the man of the family,” he heard Magnolia’s father say. 

“He certainly has.” Narcissa nodded.

Draco hated these types of conversations. Hated how people would always speak about him as if he wasn’t standing right there. 

“These are strange times we are living in,” Leonidas went on. “We need to look out for each other.”

Draco thought that ‘strange times’ was a generous way of putting it. 

“We just wanted to remind you that if you ever need any help, we are always here,” the man added. 

“That’s very kind of you, Leonidas.” 

“It must be so difficult without Lucius.” Idris Stellifer gave them both a sympathetic smile. “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like,” she said, and turned her gaze to her husband. 

Leonidas smiled at her gently and grasped her hand in his.

Draco couldn’t understand why people said things like that so often. Did they really believe it would make anyone feel better? It made him want to scream. 

His mother gave them a small smile that Draco had come to know very well in the last few months and said, “It is certainly quieter at home.” 

It was quite the opposite, actually.

“I’m really sorry to interrupt,” Magnolia spoke suddenly, “but I think me and Draco ought to go. The train will be leaving soon.”

“Right, of course.” Her mother smiled. "We wouldn’t want you missing it,” she said. “But before you go, let me give you one last big hug.” She pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. 

Draco turned to his own mother. 

“Do not forget to write to me,” she said with a tired kind of smile on her face.

“I won’t,” Draco promised.

“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “Off you go.”

He made sure to look at her for as long as he could before he had to turn away and start walking towards the train – to try and remember every detail of her face. Draco didn’t let the thought form into a sentence in his head, but a tiny part of him was afraid of that being the last time he would see his mother.

He pushed the thought away quickly. He wasn’t going to let it be. 

“Goodbye, mother.” Draco swallowed thickly before turning back to the others. “It was good seeing you, Mr and Mrs Stellifer.”

“Draco, dear,” Magnolia’s mother stopped him. “Would you mind helping Magnolia with her bag?”

“There’s really no need, mother,” Magnolia protested. “I wouldn’t want to trouble Draco.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, with a smile that he knew made all mothers like him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

They walked side by side towards the Hogwarts Express, Draco stealing quick glances at Magnolia’s face. There was a tiredness in her eyes and a frown on her lips that he hadn’t noticed before. He wondered what could have caused it. It was difficult to remember what kinds of problems people who weren’t doing the Dark Lord’s bidding had. 

“You look ravishing today,” he drawled sarcastically, finally breaking the silence.

“Tiring summer,” was all Magnolia said in response. 

“Oh, right. It must be awfully taxing having to attend so many balls and picnics,” Draco said, with pretend sympathy.

“You’d know all about that.”

“Would I?” He smirked. “I don’t recall attending many tea parties this summer.”

She furrowed her dark brows. “What’s your problem, Malfoy?”

He laughed. Given by how quickly he had managed to get her riled up, it seemed he wasn’t the only one in a bad mood. 

It felt good to pick a fight – finally have someone to snap at. 

“Were the balls any fun at least?” he asked.

“Certainly the ones you weren’t at,” Magnolia snapped back. 

Draco would have been at all of them if Voldemort hadn’t been spending his time in Draco’s living room most nights. 

“I’m sure my company was dearly missed.”

She laughed back at him. “I beg to differ.”

“I’m doubtful.” 

“I wouldn’t expect any different, you arrogant twat.”

“Good, you know me well then, and you shouldn’t miss me too much now, either.” Draco grinned at her one last time before letting go of her suitcase, giving it a hard push towards the train tracks and strolling off, “You’ll manage just fine with that, I presume?” he called over his shoulder.

Magnolia stood where he had left her, giving him the middle finger, the two green ribbons in her hair blowing wildly in the wind. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It didn’t take long for Draco to find the compartment his friends were sitting in. 

“About time,” Blaise Zabini said, shaking his hand. “We thought you weren't going to make it.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t.” 

“But you’re here.” Blaise grinned. “And that means you owe me a galleon, Goyle. Don’t think I forgot,” he shouted across the compartment. 

Goyle groaned and started rummaging in his pockets. He slid a few coins over the table to Zabini. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, mate.” 

“I’ll be having a percentage of that,” Draco said. 

Blaise frowned. “We’ll see about that.”

“We were actually just talking about you before you came,” Pansy Parkinson said, changing the subject.

“You were?” Draco raised a brow.

“Just wondering,” Pansy said with a sickly sweet smile, “what Master Malfoy was so busy doing that he couldn’t be asked to reply to a single letter all summer?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Some of us didn’t spend our entire summer sunbathing in Italy,” he said. “I’ve had to take on some of my father’s responsibilities. It’s kept me pretty busy.”

He noticed the way Blaise and Pansy looked at each other awkwardly, but chose to ignore it. 

“How was Italy?” he asked, in part because he wanted to stop her from having a go at him, but also because he was dying for a normal conversation that had nothing to do with the Dark Lord, and his father, and the war.

Luckily, Pansy didn’t need much encouragement. She started babbling happily about the beaches, all the food she ate, the people and all the wine she managed to swipe from her parents. Draco was grateful not to have to speak for a while. It was nice to listen to something so down to earth.

It didn’t last very long, though. 

“You know,” Pansy said, “apparently some people aren’t coming back this year.”

“Muggle-borns,” Blaise chimed in. 

Draco leaned back in his seat. “People are starting not to trust Dumbledore with their precious children as much.”

“Took them long enough,” Blasie sighed. “He let a bloody werewolf teach us.”

“Lupin wasn’t all that bad,” Pansy countered.

“Did you fancy him or something, Parkinson?" Draco joked.

“You think I’m into hairy guys?”

“I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours.”

Pansy rolled her eyes at him.  “At least he actually taught us something. Better than Umbridge.”

"S’ppose” Blaise shrugged.

The compartment doors swung open and the freckle-covered face of some Ravenclaw student peered inside.

“Hi, sorry, is there a Blaise Zabini in here?” the girl asked.

“Depends who’s asking,” Blaise drawled.

“I’ve been asked to deliver a message from Professor Slughorn.”

The girl passed Blaise a wax sealed envelope. Pansy peered over his shoulder as he opened it. 

“That’s the new Potions professor," she said. “He taught my father.”

Blaise scanned the letter quickly and scoffed.

“What is it?” Draco asked. 

Though he wouldn’t admit it, the mysterious letter had sparked some curiosity in him.

“Looks like I’ve got lunch plans today.”

“Who would have thought you’d be such a teacher’s pet, Blaise,” Pansy giggled. “Getting invited to lunch by a professor on the first day back? Must have been a busy summer.”

“What does Slughorn want with you?” Draco asked. “You’re awful at potions.”

“Beats me.” Blaise shrugged. 

“Maybe Slughorn’s doing special classes, for those most in need, this year,” Pansy suggested, smiling innocently. 

“Rude.” 

“Only logical explanation.” Draco smirked.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on either of you,” Blaise said, standing up. “Let’s hope the food is good. See you later.”

He left the compartment whistling, his hands in his pockets, leaving just Draco and Pansy in their booth. 

The girl pressed her forehead against the window. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her jumper, each of them decorated with chipped black polish and silver rings. They both sat in silence for a while, looking at the rolling hills they were passing, before she said, “Isn’t it strange that we’re only going to get to do this one more time?”

He raised a brow. “Pansy Parkinson getting sentimental?”

She laughed. “Maybe a bit. Hogwarts is a shithole, but I’m going to miss it. I’ve spent most of the last few years of my life there.”

He decided not to tell her that he may not be there with her on the train next year. That by then he might be onto bigger things.

This was going to be a good year for him. Draco was going to make sure of that. It was going to be difficult, but it would all be worth getting his father out of prison, restoring his family’s good name and keeping his mother safe. There was a lot he was willing to do to accomplish that.

Apparently even murdering his headmaster.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Blaise returned after an hour. He already had a scowl on his face as he swung the compartment door open, and it only deepened when he couldn’t get it to shut again.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” he asked angrily, as he tousled with the door. 

Just as Draco got up to help him, the door slid open completely, and Zabini toppled over sideways, landing straight in Gregory Goyle’s lap. Pansy and Draco both erupted into laughter.

“Oi!” Goyle snarled. “Get off me.”

“You’re acting like I wanted to land on your fat arse!”

“We all know you like it, Goyle,” Pansy jeered.

“Get your hands off me,” Zabini spat.

“You’re the one sitting on me!”

“Keep telling yourself that, mate.”

Blaise leapt up before Goyle could shove him off and slumped down next to Pansy. Draco sprawled out across the free seat next to him. He listened as the two slytherins continued to squabble with a smile, when something white flashed before his eyes. Draco frowned slightly.

“How was it?” Pansy asked, still laughing slightly.

“One of the biggest wastes of time,” Blaise groaned.

“What did Slughorn want?” 

Draco was glad that Pansy asked before he had to. Blaise was always far too pleased when he forced someone to try and pry information out of him.

“Just trying to find some well-connected people,” he said, straightening his jacket. “Not that he managed to find any.”

“Who else did he invite?” Draco asked.

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” Blaise replied.

“Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry.” Pansy filled in.

“–somone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw.”

Pansy scowled. “He’s a dickhead.”

“Magnolia Stellifer was there too,” Blaise added, and Draco noticed the way he looked at him, searching for a reaction.

It didn’t surprise Draco one bit that she was invited. She was brilliant at potions – he had to give her that.

“– and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl,” Zabini finished.

“He invited Longbottom?” Draco laughed in disbelief. 

“Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,” Zabini said indifferently.

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?” Pansy asked.

Blaise shrugged.

“Guess the whole Potter fan club scored an invite,” Draco sneered. “Even the Weasley girl.”

“A lot of boys like her for some reason,” Pansy said. “Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please.” She wriggled her thick eyebrows suggestively. 

Blaise made a gagging noise. “I’d rather snog Goyle.”

“I don’t have a hard time believing that after what we just saw,” Draco teased.

“Not that I want to spend my free time with that old man,” Pansy said, “but I’m a bit surprised that Malfoy and I weren’t invited.”

“I wouldn't bank on an invitation,” Blaise said. “He asked me about Notts father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry, he didn’t look happy. And Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters. At least not convicted ones.”

Draco let out a single humourless laugh. “His loss.”

“We’re nearly there,” Pansy said. “We should get our robes on. Blaise needs all the time he can get in front of the mirror.”

The boy clutched his chest. “How thoughtful, Pansy.”

As they all stood up and Goyle reached up for his trunk, Draco heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a faint grunt. He looked over at Pansy and Blaise, but they were still going back and forth about something, oblivious to the strange noise. Draco continued pulling on his robe like he hadn’t heard anything and reached for his trunk. The train halted.

“You guys go on,” he told his friends. “I just want to check something.”

Draco waited until he couldn’t hear anyone in the corridor and lowered the blinds. He bent down and reached into his trunk, then spun around and pointed his wand at the luggage rack.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Just as he had suspected, Potter came toppling down from the rack, his head and torso sliding out from underneath an invisibility cloak. He landed right at Draco’s feet. 

Draco smirked down at him. “Hello Potter. I thought it was you,” he said jubilantly. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you and thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back… It was quite rude of you not to say hello.”

His eyes lingered for a moment on Potter’s face as he considered how much he could get away with. 

“You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter, but while I’ve got you here…” Draco stamped down hard on Harry’s face. He heard a crunch under his shoes as Potter’s blood spluttered everywhere. “That’s from my father.” He kicked again. “And that’s from me.”

Potter’s glasses had snapped into three pieces and the glass had shattered, some of it slicing into his – definitely broken – nose. 

It felt good to see him so defenceless. The legendary boy who lived at his feet. It was his fault that Draco was in the position he was in.

“Oh, dear” Draco cooed cruelly. “You’ve made quite the mess.” He wiped his shoe on Harry’s shirt, then dragged the cloak from under Harry’s immobilised body and threw it over him. “I don’t reckon they’ll find you until the train’s back in London,” he said quietly. “See you around, Potter… or not.”

He took care to tread on his fingers as he left the compartment. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Does Potter’s nose have anything to do with what you left on the train?” Pansy asked Draco during the feast. 

“Perhaps.” He smirked, pleased with himself. What he did was going to be the highlight of his week. 

The Slytherin table erupted into laughter. They were silenced only by Dumbledore stepping onto the podium. 

“The very best of evenings to you!” Dumbledore said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide enough to embrace the whole room.

Draco groaned and buried his head in his arms. 

“Now...to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you...” 

He mostly drowned out the sound of Dumbledore’s annual speech.

“...those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise. We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn. He is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master. Professor Snape, meanwhile,” Dumbledore said, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, “will be taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength.” 

Draco lifted his head off the table at the name ‘Lord Voldemort’.

“I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others’ safety.” 

The old man had no clue what he had coming. 

[ladderofyears]

As once it was, so it always shall be.

You were born lucky, they tell you. Born into privilege, they say. There’s a silver spoon in your mouth, big enough to choke you.

Unpolluted. Unsullied. Uncontaminated. The blood in your veins more treasured than rubies. Superior over all, inferior to none. As once it was, so it always shall be.

Thing is, you believed it all. You let it shape your life.

You took their ink. Swallowed their lies.

And when you watch Potter and his crowd, his enthusiastic cloud, you know it’s already too late.

Blessed are those whose blood is pure, for they shall inherit the earth.

~~

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt of: Sally's Song.

I used the lyrics: Although I'd like to join the crowd, in their enthusiastic cloud, try as I may it doesn't last.

[metvmorqhoses]

What do you think would happen if Voldemort and Bellatrix were the same age and went to Hogwarts together? Would she still grow to love him and show the devotion she has for him in canon? Or just think him a madman and a fool. How would he feel about her? Would he want her on his side?

Wuthering Heights would have happened, almost verbatim.

[didsomeonesayventus]

Thinking about Corrin after the war. Leads Valla for several years in a very successful campaign- too successful, even, because no one seems to want her out of leadership any time soon, and she's in excellent health in her age. Why she's pushing 60 and looks 30. She's outlasted her husband, the kids have, too. They outlive advisors, some wonder if they're even needed. The crown passes as she just wants to retire, her dragon blood makes her death look a long way off and there's still so much world to see.

Corrin who wanders the galleries and speaks softly with conservationists when they're having trouble repairing her nephew forrest's now long faded and fraying gown, or weaponry forged during the war, talks about the materials used in shigure's paintings. Who stands in front of portraits of the kings and queens of Nohr and Hoshido who finally set aside their differences and found peace with a wistful look, feeling like it was just yesterday. Who talks with her children about ages past over tea, dotes on the descendants of Nohr and Hoshido (particularly when they remind her of her siblings).

There is no more monarchy of Valla, the people suggested a new idea where they voted for their leaders and representatives, and it was too lovely an idea to refuse. Corrin looks barely older than the faded, sepia-toned photograph in the history books, laughing and smiling as the camera's earliest subject alongside the first king of her new kingdom. She kindly writes to historians as a primary source on the war and her reign.

She wonders how old she's going to get. How old her children will be.

Lilith says dragons live a long time.

She's not sure how long.

[kelprot-old]

kind of crazy to have a first-generation immigrant for a parent when their heritage is just like. fucking central europe or something. like whta do i do with this am i supposed to do something about this