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saintsenara · 6 months

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What parts of canon do you find the most frustrating/that you are dissatisfied with/wished that was handled better/explored more? Mine is the inconsistency of Voldemort as a character. How he is described as being perhaps the most talented student that Hogwarts has ever seen and so powerful and intelligent but regularly made such dumb decisions e.g. in the final battle where he still uses Avada Kedavra despite seeing it not work before. I like the explanation that Horcruxes rotted his brain

thank you very much for the ask, @sarafina-sincerity!

the parts of canon which i find the least satisfying all have the same thing in common: their morality is individualist.

the harry potter series has - at its core - a really profound and very black-and-white belief that good and evil not only exist but are rooted in the individual. and while i understand why this is the case - the later books in the series are governed by the genre conventions of folkloric epic and, especially, of christian folkloric epic, which means that the whole seven-book narrative arc ending in a battle between christ and satan after which all is well is only to be expected - i don't like it.

so here we are... ten things i hate about canon, for fanfic writers to win my heart by interrogating in their work...

i hate the series' insistence that everything is fine once voldemort is dead

the middle books in the series - especially goblet of fire - do a really interesting job at hinting at the endemic rot in the ministry of magic, and the ways that the state and its enforcers perpetuated harm during the first war that was indistinct from that perpetuated by the death eaters - above all the use of internment without trial for suspected death eaters [which is a reference to something the british state actually did in the 1970s!].

they show how widespread blood-supremacy and magic-supremacy is, even among people who don't openly support voldemort; how the wizarding population is kept deliberately ignorant by what appears to be state-controlled media; and how no serious efforts have been made to eradicate the conditions which enabled voldemort to attain such power.

this is then forgotten completely in deathly hallows, where the fact that almost the entire civil service keeps working for a government which is committing genocide is hand-waved away with "oh, people are scared", and both the epilogue and jkr's post-series writing take the view that kingsley manages, as minister, to preside over a government which easily sheds all its old prejudices and starts working properly.

i don't like this! i think it's just much more interesting for corruption to be impossible to fully eradicate from the government, for blood-supremacy to have long-standing causes which actually take a lot of very hard work to untangled [especially the fact that the wizarding world not appearing to have a welfare state means that those whose lives are poor or unstable are prime targets for radicalisation], and for kingsley to have the same capacity for leaning on the prophet and worrying about his polling numbers as any other politician...

i hate that the series changes how the death eaters are written between half-blood prince and deathly hallows

connected to this shift from the series hinting at the broader issues in the wizarding world to a flat battle between good and evil is that the death eaters, their aims, and their modus operandi are written very different between half-blood prince and deathly hallows. in the former, the death eaters can be situated very easily as anti-state sectarian terrorists who have all sorts of complex analogies within british history and politics. in the latter, they're just caricatures of pure evil - which is why the death eaters introduced from the latter stages of half-blood prince onwards, especially the carrows, are considerably less interesting as characters than those, such as lucius malfoy, barty crouch jr. and bellatrix lestrange, who are introduced earlier.

it's also why the voldemort of deathly hallows feels so uninteresting. i don't like the fanon that the horcruxes render him insane at all - when he's shown outside of the epic battle between good and evil in that book, he's shown to be as lucid and cunning as always - but he ends up having to flop because his only purpose in the overarching narrative is to be killed. in the earlier books, in which he's a paramilitary kingpin poisoning and corrupting a society which was designed to exclude him because of the fact of his birth in revenge for its treatment of him, rather than satan and hitler's lovechild, he is so much more interesting.

i hate the series' belief that slavery is fine

obviously, one of the biggest examples of state malevolence in the series is that wizards own slaves. like many readers, i loathe that the house elf plotline ends up being reduced from its potential for radicalism in chamber of secrets - in which dobby mentions whisper-networks of elves who decry their treatment at wizards' hands - to what we see from goblet of fire onwards - in which elves love being enslaved and think that any attempts to free them from their subjugation is cruel.

i also hate that elves' freedom is then hand-waved away as part of the general race towards "all was well" with the implication that hermione found it easy to undo what appears to be centuries of state-sanctioned oppression without any pushback at all.

the house elf plotline is one of the clearest distillations of the series' individualistic morality. harry abhors the treatment of dobby at the malfoys' hands entirely and only because he doesn't like the malfoys. he abhors voldemort's treatment of kreacher, but sees absolutely no issue with sirius' because he likes sirius - and he clearly sees no issue at all with his own legal mastery of kreacher, seeing as, literally minutes after the end of a war in which the good guys fought for the rights of muggles and muggleborns to be seen as fully human... he is considering ordering his slave to make him a sandwich.

i hate that the series doesn't show the realities of resistance

the reason i think the whole "why does voldemort keep using avada kedavra, isn't he supposed to be clever?" question arises is because the series is incredibly resistant to the idea that the good guys must have to kill as well, which makes it look like it's only the death eaters using it while the order use lots of clever magic that the stupid terrorists are too thick to think of.

this is idiotic - not only because the killing curse is canonically flawless unless the thing you're blasting is your own horcrux and so the order would use it for efficiency's sake alone, but because the reality of being a resistance fighter is that, even if you're on the "right" side, you are going to have kill people or they will kill you.

lupin is completely right in deathly hallows that harry is breathtakingly naive to avoid shooting to kill and that - without the protection of genre conventions allowing him to be preternaturally merciful - his resistance to killing is going to result in him being destroyed by the enemy. it is inconceivable that the rest of the order don't using the killing curse - and the question of what this does to their souls [is it murder if you believe yourself to be justified in your actions?] and their senses of self post-war is so interesting to think about - and i wish we were shown this in the text.

especially because molly absolutely blasted bellatrix with it.

but i also hate that the series thinks that violence is fine when the good guys do it

this is primarily another example of the black-and-white "this is fine because harry's good" theme which runs through the series, which we see in things like harry using sectumsempra on draco malfoy in half-blood prince or the cruciatus curse on amycus carrow in deathly hallows. harry's overarching response to committing attempted murder is to sulk that the incredibly minor punishment he receives is reducing the time he could spend hitting on ginny, and his response to torturing amycus is "lol. lmao."

the series thinks - again and again - that cruelty and violence are completely fine when the person they are perpetuated against "deserves" it, and it does not bang.

and that the series allows the good guys more complexity in characterisation

the role played by the house system in the story - and, above all, the fact that our heroes are all connected to one particular house with straightforwardly admirable associated characteristics - means that the villains receive less opportunity to also have positive traits intermingled with their negative ones - and, therefore, complex and interesting personalities.

i also dislike that when non-gryffindor characters - especially slytherins - do reveal themselves to be brave and loyal etc., instead of recognising that this is because bravery can be multi-faceted the series suggests that they should be recategorised as "belonging" to a "good" house.

or, in other words, me and dumbledore's "i think we sort too soon" line in deathly hallows are enemies for life.

i hate that the series blames merope gaunt for dying

and - of course - the main way a villain isn't allowed as much complexity as a hero is that the series never examines the impact of voldemort's childhood on his adult self. while we see hints throughout canon of just how profoundly affected he is by his institutionalised childhood and the weight of his grief over his parents [his mother especially] - such as him learning as a baby never to cry for attention because it's futile - this is hand-waved away throughout the series by dumbledore-as-the-voice-of-god as irrelevant. the eleven-year-old tom riddle is straightforwardly evil, that he grows up in an orphanage is used as nothing more than narrative colour to underline how creepy he is, and dumbledore's spectacular mishandling of their relationship is viewed by the series as undeniably correct right up to the very last moment [when harry imitates dumbledore by - and we should call it what it is - deadnaming voldemort in their final confrontation].

but the most egregious thing that dumbledore does when discussing the course voldemort's life takes is blame merope gaunt for her own death in childbirth, by implying that witches are immune to one of the most common causes of death throughout human history if they just try hard enough and then saying that a nineteen-year-old girl whose life appears to have been nothing more than unrelenting abuse and misery [perpetuated both against her and by her] lacked the moral fibre to try hard enough.

and this infuriates me.

i hate how the series treats female characters who don't fit its narrow spectrum of "correct" womanhood

merope is but one victim of the series' general issues with treating women who aren't its heroes - all of whom are exactly feminine and beautiful and clever and talented enough that we know they're good people, but not any of these things in an extreme which could make them vapid or arrogant or defiant of social norms or so on.

the series takes a very low view of women who exist outside of narrow boxes - whether they are interested in a hyper-feminine aesthetic [lavender brown, rita skeeter] or a more masculine one [marge dursley]; conform to stereotypes about being bitchy, flighty, or vapid [pansy parkinson, romilda vane] or refuse to adhere to social expectations to be polite, meek, and demure [fleur delacour]; are unmarried, are not inherently maternal, and/or are cruel to children [bellatrix lestrange; petunia dursley; dolores umbridge]; are unrestrained emotionally [cho chang; moaning myrtle] and so on. and i don't like it.

and i also hate that - connected to this - the series uses physical appearance - especially weight - as a shorthand for [female] characters we're supposed to dislike.

what it says on the tin, really - if the series doesn't like a character, especially if the character is a woman, you can almost guarantee that they will either be fat or be unusually thin.

and finally...

i hate that the series prioritises one form of love - love as suffering and as sacrifice - over all others

part of the series' march towards the epic two-person showdown between good and evil is that harry is made to endure trial after trial - including his death for the salvation of mankind - in the name of love. obviously this is because he becomes, by the end of deathly hallows an allegory for christ, but it also fits into the series' view - articulated most frequently by dumbledore - that love, suffering, and sacrifice are all synonyms.

the acts of love the series foregrounds - snape's willingness to endure anything because of his love for lily; sirius' willingness to rot in azkaban and caves and grimmauld place because of his love for james and harry; harry giving up a love that's like "someone else's life" with ginny so he can go die - are all sacrificial, and the series generally takes a dull view of love that is fluffy, silly, carnal, selfish, soothing, transformational and so on. lavender and bellatrix's open adoration of their lovers is mocked; dumbledore's sexual desire for grindelwald is punished by his sister's death; tonks and lupin's uncomplicated happiness in the birth of their son is not to last.

but happy endings and silly jokes and forehead kisses are love too. and the hill i will die on is that they have even more potential to bring about the salvation of the world than constant suffering and abiding.

#asks answered #asenora on canon

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sheeple · 4 months

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Miracles don't exist | 32: Love

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Talk about death [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You place a hand over the empty and cold spot on the bed next to you. A sigh escapes you as you go sit upright. Ever since Theo left with the other Death Eaters you haven't slept a wink. Terrible what-ifs running through your mind.

Deciding that you can no longer stay in bed, you make your way down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

As you stand in the dark heating up water, you notice someone entering the kitchen with the point of their wand light up. It's your aunt.

"Do you want to join me?", you ask, your head turned towards her. You see her not from the corner of your eyes and you fill two glasses with boiling water and tea leaves.

The two of you take place at the breakfast table and sit in silence. Narcissa lights a small candle and places it on the table. You trace the rim of your glass, eyes trained on the dark liquid. The air is tense. Narcissa opens her mouth before closing it quickly. She does this a couple of times, not knowing what to say.

Your head twitches. It has been doing that all night. You rub over your neck as the twitching has been hurting it.

"Since when have you been doing that", asks your aunt, eyeing you warilly.

You shrug, glancing up at her. "Don't know. A while now. It comes and goes."

There is silence between the two of you again. You never were one to talk to her about your problems. It's not something you did. not like she truly cared about you. She only took care of you because you are family and because she feels like it is her duty to the Dark Lord.

"Were you... were you always engaged to Lucius?", you ask, glancing up at her.

Your aunt looks surprised at your question. The two of you never really... talked.

At her silence, you look fully at her. She has an unreadable look on her face, one you've seen a lot lately. "No", she says curtly, "at first it was my sister Andromea who was intended to marry into the Malfoy family."

Andromea? Tonk's mother? "Isn't she married to Ted Tonks?"

Narcissa nods. "Yes. She fell in love with him and ran away from home. Seeing that Bella was already set on marrying Rudolfus, it was my duty to marry Lucius."

"Did you love him when you got married?" Your question is very childlike but brings a smile to the older woman's face.

"I used to have the biggest schoolgirl crush on Lucius at school. He was two years above me. We learned to love each other during our marriage." She has a fond look on her face as she recalls the memories.

The topic of love makes your stomach curl and a lump forms in your throat. Your mouth feels dry and as you go to take a sip, you realise you've already finished your tea. As you look at your cup, your question surprises even you. "The wedding will be soon, right?"

Unable to look your aunt in the face, you focus instead on her hands. Her well-manicured hands tense up before gripping the cup tightly. She stays silent, seeming deep in thought. "It... yes. The Lord has decided that your wedding will be held after Pius Thicknesse is estated as Minister for Magic."

You lean back in your chair, lips pressed firmly together. "And when will that be?"

"The first of August. The Lord has expressed his... expectations of you to be there in his name when the new Minister addressed the people, in the name of the Lord. Two days after that, you and Theodore will be wed."

You're numb. Absolutely numb. They are going to play the fall of the Ministry off as another Tuesday. And now you're supposed to be there to support him. Next to the numbness, a festering sickness bubbles up inside you.

Standing up, you dig your nails into your palm. "I'm going to try to sleep again. Good night." You turn around and begin to make your way towards the stairs when noise comes from the entrance hall. That can only mean one thing.

You rush towards the entrance hall, your eyes wildly searching around. Fewer Death Eaters came back than left. Some are bleeding the others just stand around, helping each other. The Dark Lord is nowhere to be seen. Bellatrix brushes past you, an unhappy look on her face.

The air you subconsciously held in escapes your lungs once you spot the only person you care about. You rush towards him, throwing your arms over Theo's shoulders and hugging him tightly. Theo returns the gesture, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug.

"Are you okay?", you whisper, taking a good look at his face. A gasp exits your lips as Theo's face spots a few gashes and cuts, blood smeared all over. You take him by the hand and lead him away, towards your room.

There you make him sit on the bed and scramble around the room for your wand. You cast a few quick healing spells and watch how the blood seeps back into his skin and the cuts clear up.

Theo's hands are on your middle, gazing up at you as you fuss about. He rubs circles with his thumb before pulling you towards him. He presses his head against your chest as his hands take a good hold of you with no intention of letting you go. You lace your fingers into his hair, running your nails over his scalp.

He pulls you down with him and wiggles around until the both of you are under the covers. His eyes flicker over every detail of your face as if he's memorising them. All this time he has said nothing.

The two of you stare at each other in the dark, not saying anything.

"Professor Moody is dead", he croaks suddenly, his face twisted in anguish. "One of the Weasley twins is also injured. I tried not to hurt anyone, just fly with them. I tried to stop them from hurting them." He lets out a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips. You cradle him against your body, pressing kisses on the crown of his head. "I know", you whisper, "I know, Teddy. It's not your fault."

You stay like this, comforting Theo with your presence and watching over him. As his breathing slows down and his iron grip on you somewhat relaxes, you look down at him. His eyes are closed but he has still his eyebrows knitted together, a restless look on his face.

"I love you", you whisper after you're sure he's dead asleep. "I wanted to tell you then, but I was scared. Nobody ever loved me, and that spooked me. But the thought of losing you scares me more than anything else." You gaze at him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. You nuzzle against him and close your eyes. "I love you, Theodore Nott. And nothing is going to stop me from getting us out here alive."

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver

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heaven4lostgirls · 9 months

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do i dare write a red, white and royal blue starchaser au?

regulus black is the heir to the french monarchy

james potter is the son of the prime minister

prince philip and his wife as lucius and narcissa

remus lupin is regulus black’s equerry and sirius black is regulus’ abdicated idiot of a brother

princess beatrice as pandora lovegood (adopted) and nora holleran as lily evans!!

barty and evan are regulus’ bodyguards

while severus is miguel 🤮

peter is james’ bodyguard 🫶🏽

meanwhile dorlene are regulus’ and james mom’s PA’s and help starchaser hide their relationship from the public 🫡 (basically damage control)

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awyeahitssam · 7 months

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A cold male voice rang across the courtroom.

“You’re late.”

Harry considered his response as he stepped farther into the room, head tipping up to take in the fifty some-odd witches and wizards that made up the Wizengamot. They were all watching him keenly, some with open derision and others with curiosity. His head pulsed faintly at the weight of the attention on him, their emotions eagerly battering his Occlumency shields. Harry worked to think through the sensation even as he reinforced his mental defences. He could already tell by the sweat beading on his back that this would be a trying experience. The fact that this section of the Ministry was deep enough to obstruct the weight of all other presences did not make up for the fact that he was in front of fifty people rather than the expected four to six. He hasn't practised for this, has had no means to.

Fudge sat in the middle of the first row, and the smugness he and the witch to his right were emanating made it rather easy to pinpoint who had been responsible for the sudden change in the time of his trial.

"Am I?" Harry asked, and the jolt of astonishment, annoyance and fury that swept through various members of the court almost had him gritting his teeth. Harry imagined that Fudge's anger and embarrassment would have been obvious to him even without his abilities. The man had turned faintly red at the question, face pinching.

"You were sent notice of the change in time this morning," the Minister barked out. "It is not the Wizengamot's fault you are late. Now sit down."

Harry allowed his eyebrow to quirk, slow and incredulous. This version of Cornelius Fudge was far different from the one he had met two years ago.

“While I would hardly blame the Wizengamot as a whole, it sounds as if whoever is charged with correspondence is at fault. Per a standing law written in 1839, all changes in time and venue must be completed in excess of twenty four hours prior to a trial's start time. Said correspondence must have been confirmed as seen by the person or persons on trial and their representatives at least sixteen hours before the scheduled start time.”

“That is for an official trial,” the Minister returned, voice sharp despite the fluster and anxiety Harry could sense beneath it.

“Apologies for my presumption, then,” Harry said dryly. “I assumed that any trial which our entire governance presided over would be considered official.”

“Besides which, there is no such specificity to that law,” A broad, square-jawed witch to the left of Fudge said, giving the Minister a quelling look.

The Minister did not respond to the implied reprimand, instead puffing himself up a bit and saying, “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry was surprised to see Percy Weasley, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he stared down at a piece of parchment, quill poised to write. Unlike most everyone else in the room, his attention did not seem to find sole focus on Harry. Harry didn’t expend any effort to attempt to see how Percy felt about the entire situation, his focus drawn to an approaching presence. It was a whirlwind of concern, faint annoyance, and a dash of enjoyment.

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, emphasising the word hearing, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”

Fudge continued on, listing interrogators, and Harry’s attention was distracted from Fudge’s words, the approaching presence, and his Occlumency shields by a jolt of glee and greed. His gaze flickered up to meet the icy grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. The realisation dawns quickly that the Dursleys address was now a matter of public record. Harry had already decided he wouldn't go back, and this only provided more incentive.

He hesitates around the thought of whether the Dursleys will be targeted. Whether he should warn somebody that they need to be moved. Whether he cares enough to, after so many years of their oppressive hatred.

Behind him, the door presses open.

“—Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Dumbledore’s voice isn’t projected like Fudge’s, but there is no doubt that he is heard. The press of the Wizengamot’s emotions is momentarily overwhelming: annoyance, bemusement, fear, anger, respect, deference, joy… Harry’s own anger is hardly a blip amongst the cacophony.

When he strides into Harry’s view Dumbledore's expression is serene, but Harry can feel his spiteful enjoyment at the reception his disruption has created. He looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his crooked nose.

A few of the Wizengamot members muttered to one another, but most were quiet, eyes locked on Dumbledore.

While Harry’s presence had invoked interest and curiosity, the reactions to Dumbledore were far more substantive. Perhaps it was that the Headmaster had interacted with all of these people personally, socially, and they knew him by more than reputation. They had personal feelings and opinions fully developed about Dumbledore, while Harry was still, largely, an unknown.

“Ah,” said Fudge, thoroughly disconcerted and flustered by Dumbledore’s presence. “Dumbledore. Yes. You—er—got our—er—message that the time and—er—place of the hearing had been changed, then?”

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

It was a lie, Harry recognized, and one the Headmaster took a good deal of amusement in stating. Some of Dumbledore’s lingering frustration seemed to melt the longer he watched Fudge, the genial cast to his face a farce. He took joy in Fudge being wrong-footed, and the longer he fumbled, the more Dumbledore’s contentment with the situation grew.

“Yes—well—I suppose we’ll need another chair—I—Weasley, could you—?”

“Not to worry, not to worry,” said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest.

Harry had never thought of Dumbledore as anything approaching petty before, and perhaps he typically was not, but there was no denying that he was fond of making Fudge feel foolish. Well, his name had been dragged through the Prophet by the Minister's word; Harry couldn’t be surprised by a grudge. Seemingly omniscient or not, Dumbledore was only human.

The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.

“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.” He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.”

“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, not looking at Malfoy this time.

“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” interrupted Fudge. Harry felt his vindictive pleasure at cutting him off—even with Dumbledore here, he was finding his footing—but as Harry failed to answer this question, his irritation rose to overtake it.

“You are expected to answer,” the witch to the left of Fudge said, raising a brow at him. She had been the same woman to defend the law he had parrotted.

Harry lets his silence linger for a moment, feeling the anticipation of the Wizengamot build, before returning, “Will I be allowed to do so in full?”

His voice is perfectly respectful, but Fudge’s outrage still blooms. Dumbledore, a glance away, feels of surprise-concern-suspicion, and it makes the hairs on Harry’s nape stand at attention.

“Yes,” the woman gave the Minister yet another quelling look, “of course you will.”

“Thank you. To your last question, Minister, I did receive an official warning three years ago. The warning was,” it took a moment for Harry to recall the right term, said by three other representatives in three other trials, but the momentary pause has the interesting effect of focusing attention on him all the more, “improperly dispersed. The magic that triggered it came from a visiting House Elf. Being the only known magical in Little Whinging and without the supervision of an adult witch or wizard, the charms used to enforce the Statute of Secrecy were triggered. If anybody would like to see a memory of the event in question, I would be more than happy to provide it, assuming there is a pensive available.”

“There is no pensive,” a man with dark hair and an austere demeanour said, then emphasised again, “This is no trial.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry asked, eyebrows raising as he glanced tellingly down at the chair in which he sat, wrapped in chains. “Very well.”

“Either way, it is rather late to be blaming your troubled past on elf magic,” Fudge dismissed, and let out a short laugh, as if he expected others to join him in it. At his side, the woman still cloaked in shadows let out a titter. “A unique and unprecedented excuse, as, I suppose, we should have expected from a young man trying to squirm out of trouble.”

It is Fudge’s tone, a mix of condescension and chiding, even as his emotions are anything but, that does it. Behind his Occlumency and building headache, Harry realises that he's angry. He is disgruntled, disgusted and dissatisfied. He had accessed the public records available, he had pulled transcripts from previous underage trials, and this—this is a farce.

This is Fudge, afraid to believe that Lord Voldemort is alive and smearing Harry’s name because he can. Because Harry has nobody looking out for him, and he’s been fair game since nobody stepped in the first time Rita did it. Beside him, Dumbledore is perfectly silent.

Harry is a symbol, but he's also fifteen, and it's an odd thought that reeks of his Godfather.

“You're fifteen, pup,” Sirius had insisted mere days ago, like it meant something, like it mattered. “You deserve the chance to be a boy without all of this added pressure.”

The glimmer in his eyes had been just as telling as the mingled pain-grief-exhaustion-despair. He was speaking from experience, Harry had thought, throat tight. It made Harry want to fight for his Godfather, for the boy that he once was. Where, then, was that impulse to fight for himself?

“You matter, Harry. What you want matters.”

Harry does not want to play their games, though he has already begun to. He does not want to use the information he's researched, as he sits in a chair with chains, and struggles through polite phrasings. He won't let his research go to waste, though. He knows something for once, and he'll use that knowledge.

The look he levels to Fudge, then, is faux-concerned. “I understand you've had no reason to research this, Minister,” he says, voice kind in a way that is mockery and can not be called such, “but I take the threat of having my wand snapped very seriously. According to public records, the Statute of Secrecy charms have been proven defective in the exact scenario I've discussed once before, in the case of Richard Pike, who’s classmate had an elf deliver things on multiple occasions until he was brought between a five-panel jury to plead his case.”

“Mind you, the Ministry hadn't been running a campaign to discredit Richard Pike,” Harry added casually. The reaction from a simple remark didn't disappoint; Fudge spluttered, the woman beside him leaned out of the shadows, revealing an overwhelmingly pink ensemble, and someone burst out, “Now see here, young man—!” before being abruptly silenced. “He was fifteen, too, but he actually had adults willing to advocate on his behalf.”

Dumbledore’s concern is growing beside him, but Harry doesn't turn to meet the man's eyes, and Dumbledore does not speak out, despite Harry’s accusation.

Harry’s rage is bubbling at the back of his throat, and he wants to shout, but he had learned about the ineffectiveness of screaming his ire long ago. That lesson had only been reinforced after his outburst at Ron and Hermione, and he is more than willing to try something else now.

He takes a moment to consider his approach, and then goes with something that feels natural, a release that will keep his shouts in check; Harry laughs.

“Something funny, Mr. Potter?” A cold voice comes.

“Not really, Something is ridiculous, though, and I’m sure you’d all rather I laugh than deal with a moody teenager's temper tantrum.” He lets his smile go a little sharper, and feels the good his reminder does. There is a particularly keen sense of culpability from a woman he faintly recognizes from his research; Head of the Panel for Underaged Sourcery, Irena Covey. Is the guilt for allowing this to spiral so out of hand, into a room meant for criminal proceedings, or something else?

“I have before me the entire government of magical Britain, wasting their time at a hearing for underaged magic which is typically handled by an empaneled jury of four. We are in the bowels of the Ministry, in a room that has not been used for anything but trials of the most dangerous criminals, and yet this is not a trial, but a hearing to decide disciplinary methods, as if there is no doubt of my guilt and I must be punished.”

“My ‘crime,’” he uses the air quotes readily, “is using the Patronus Charm to protect myself and my cousin from a dementor. My cousin, who knows about magic and does not count as a breach in the Statute. If you'd like to see the memory of the encounter, I give full permission to have it pulled from my head. If you'd like to give me veritaserum—well, I have no parent to consent to the use of a regulated substance, but that's never stopped anybody before. I’ll submit myself willingly to that as well. And if,” he smiles sharply, “you'd like to handle this especially quickly, and get back to your doubtlessly busy lives, I will swear upon my magic that I'm telling the truth. How's that?”

It’s nothing that can be compelled or asked for, not ever, but the offer is a powerful thing. Vows on your magic can be taken as irrefutable testimony, and are rarely given, as they rely on objective rather than subjective fact, a twist that always leaves one with the slightest chance of turning squib.

He feels the shift in the air, the reconsideration of biases, the sharpening curiosity.

“I find your tone disrespectful, boy,” says a man with the longest straw-coloured hair Harry has ever seen. It lies in neat curls, soft and touchable, but the man’s face is cold and his tone hard, and Harry can’t pinpoint his intention with so many other people in the room.

“Perfectly understandable, sir. I find this entire theatrical display disrespectful. You are all very important and busy people, so I can understand that you are frustrated with having your time wasted. However I hope you'll forgive if my frustration outweighs your own, as I am being treated like a war criminal rather than an underaged child due to a bewildering grudge that our Minister seems to be harbouring.”

“You want to snap my wand?” Harry asked the Minister if Magic, eyes blazing but posture relaxed, “Then you can be certain I will put up a fight.”

He let his eyes trail over the rest of his jury, the heady, odd feel of their captivated attention allowing his shoulders to relax into something looser and more confident.

“Magic is the only thing I have of my mother and father. So forgive this fifteen year old orphan for his sentimentality,” Harry bared his teeth, “but I plan on keeping it. Especially considering that I have broken no laws, and there are clear caveats in place that allow an underaged witch or wizard to use magic when in fear for their life.”

He let his gaze slide over the Wizengamot and paused to meet every set of eyes that were not looking away. His point has been well and truly made. Dumbledore is surprised by his outburst, or perhaps by its effectiveness, and faintly suspicious for some reason.

“Strong words prove nothing,” a man larger than Harry’s uncle says when Harry’s gaze lands on him, and he doesn't believe Harry, but he is used to that.

Harry thinks back to the books on magical vows he had studied during the tournament, and the book in the Black Library that he had read two days ago. He thinks of the vow that he had carefully drafted, under Sirius’ supervision. His godfather has emphasised the importance of his wording, so that there could be no mistake.

“Harry, wait.” Dumbledore’s order comes curt and harsh, but Harry pays it no attention. He knows what has caught the Headmaster’s attention; the golden glow that had encapsulated Harry the moment he chose his words. It hazes around his form, and Harry looks down at his hand with interest and curiosity.

There is a sudden murmuring from his audience as they catch on.

“I, Harry James Potter, vow on my magic that on the night of August 2 I used a patronus charm to ward off dementors in Little Whinging, Surrey, in fear of losing my soul.”

The golden glow retreats. Several people gasp at the act, but it is no mere dramatics; the shock he feels pulsing through the room is genuine. He allowed the pause to linger for a moment before saying, “I would cast a spell to prove my claim, but this is a disciplinary hearing for underaged magic.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, but before he could speak a worn voice sounded from the top tier of the gallery. “I vote an exception be made. Raise your wands if you are in agreement.”

It was nearly unanimous, and Fudge’s expression was taut. His emotions were hard to pinpoint, though multiple people were radiating fear, stomach-churning and vile. Madame Bones glanced around the gallery, expectant. “Mr. Potter, if you would?”

Obediently, Harry drew his wand and murmured a spell under his breath. It was a rather cheeky choice, but Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. His patronus burst into existence and lifted its head regally, sightless eyes fixed on the Wizengamot. After a moment it turned to Harry and met his gaze before bowing its head. Harry bowed his head back in respect, tension lessening as he felt the warmth and serenity his patronus gave to him, deeply soothing. It took a step forward and pressed its head to his chest, and Harry smiled.

“Fantastic,” Madam Bones murmured. “Very impressive.”

She said it, but Harry could feel it radiating from all around the room; respect, wariness, keen interest. A couple of people even seemed amused by his gall, which, he supposed, was better than offended. Fear was regulated to an undertone in the room, pervasive but not overpowering.

Harry’s patronus raises its head, a huff ruffling his hair. He raised a hand to brush over its snout, feeling the warm, welcoming peace it emanated more than its fur. It stares into his eyes for a long moment, grounding Harry, before lowering its head one last time and glimmering out of existence, purpose served.

“Well then,” the shift in the room was abrupt. With two words the attention of the Wizengnot had been captured by a dark-haired woman, whose brown eyes were cataloguing Harry. The abrupt pull and shift of emotions might have been startling had his patronus not left him so balanced. “I might have agreed that all of our time was wasted on this day, Mr. Potter, if not for this exquisite demonstration of a mastered patronus. That it is tactile as well as spiritually corporeal is a rare and impressive feat, especially given your age.”

Beneath her intrigue and open interest, the turn of her emotions had an odd chill to them. Her fascination is detached and clinical. Her regard had the effect of sharpening the interest towards Harry all the more. Dumbledore’s emotions pulsed behind him, an odd mix of wary, vexed and rueful.

“Perhaps, Lady Laurier, it would be most appropriate to turn our attention to how a dementor managed to make its way to Little Whinging in the first place.” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

Bones clears her throat. “That is certainly a matter that needs attention. First, however, Mr. Potter’s verdict.”

“I believe that Mr. Potter’s vow constitutes irrefutable proof, and this tria—hearing should be closed.” Covey spoke up, her slip made all the more apparent by its correction.

“So it shall be,” agreed Bones. “As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I accept into the record Harry Potter's magical vow. In combination with his subsequent proof of magic, this vow is considered irrefutable evidence. As such, all charges against the accused are dismissed with the Ministry's sincere apologies. I put forward my professional recommendation that future cases of underaged sorcery are dealt with by the bench traditionally empaneled.” She added pointedly.

#my writing #Empath Harry #I'm desperate to start writing this story again #but as in love as I am with the premise I've set up and other scenes that've been written #writing this is like pulling teeth #Harrymort #unless I'm incapable of continuing

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northlt · 2 months

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Once again trying to spread my Rosekiller RWRB agenda...

Bartemius Crouch Sr as the head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a household name, respected and feared by everyone. Everyone except his rebellious son.

Barty Crouch Jr, known for getting around and hating his father in general. Barty Crouch who grew up close with Regulus to the point they're both insanely inseparable. He's charming, he's carefree, he tries to actively make things harder for his father, the whole shebang.

In comes Evan Rosier, son of one of the wealthiest pureblood families other than the Blacks. His father is trying to get the position for Minister for Magic. Evan is as Prince Henry is in the book. Kind of lonely, kind of keeps to himself.

For reasons beyond his understanding, Barty hates him, absolutely loathes him. It's completely a one sided feud though and it all bubbles up at Narcissa and Lucius' wedding when they go sprawling in an insanely expensive cake. (For the sake of the story, lets assume the Malfoys are closely related to the Rosiers)

Cue Bartemius Crouch Sr and Rosier Sr demanding they pretend to be best friends for pr purposes.

They get pictures taken for the Daily Prophet, they have to go to St Mungos together and talk to little kids, where there's a threat so they get shoved into a broom closet and Barty reveals the real reason he never liked Evan was because of something stupid that happened in Hogwarts that made him instantly dislike him.

They kind of unpack everything, start talking a lot more. Evan has this really stupid dad joke type of humor that would be completely unfunny if it was anyone else, but Barty fucking cracks up every time.

They start sitting next to each other whenever they have to be present in the Ministry. Evan has to constantly try to keep Barty under control and entertains him with insane gossip and Barty just blurts out any impulsive thoughts he has like, "hey I should just push over a shelf in the hall of prophecies and watch all the balls fall, I think that would be fun" And Evan has to constantly deal with his ass.

Anyway, they become friends, sort of. Barty likes him because no one really looks at him the way Evan does, like there's something interesting about him. No one ever looks or tries to look at the person he is and not just his body. Hell, even his own father avoids looking at him if he can.

Evan is distant sometimes though, like he's dealing with more than he could possibly divulge. And Barty's great at distracting him, great at making him laugh, making him feel like they're the only ones in a room.

Barty always throws the best parties other than the Gryffindor graduates. For the New Years Party, he manages to convince Regulus to show up as well cause he wanted to reunite the whole Slytherin group.

Evan, surprisingly, shows up, even though he had told Barty he wasn't sure if he'd be able to make it.

The party is like a ritual for Barty. He gets wasted, he kisses a girl or usually more than one (that pisses off his dad so fucking much and maybe that's the reason he keeps doing it) then he wakes up the next day hungover. It's fun for him.

It's fun when he tries to drag Evan onto the dancefloor and tries to make him laugh with bad dance moves. It's fun when Evan keeps staring at him and only him. It's fun when he slips his hands onto Evan's waist trying to get him to loosen up, try to forget the pureblood upbringing. It's fun when they're super close and Evan keeps staring at him through his eyelashes like that.

It's fun when the countdown begins and Barty tries to look for a girl to kiss. It's fun when some pretty girl slips into his arms and they chant the numbers and lock lips.

It's not fun anymore when he looks up to see Evan absolutely devastated. It's not fun anymore when he sees Evan look like he's going to throw up. It's not fun anymore when he sees Evan slip out to get fresh air.

So he follows him because that's the rational thing to do. And he finds him under a tree.

It's kind of hard to look away from Evan ever since he started looking at him. It's kind of hard to give a shit about anything else when Evan is in front of him.

Barty knows he'll never know what it's like to grow up in a pureblood family, not in the way Regulus and Evan do. So when Evan starts blabbing about what he can and can't do, its all he can do to nod along.

He tries to be supportive, he really does. But its clear he's way too drunk for it.

So when Evan calls him stupid (that's kind of become his nickname) and kisses him before pushing him away and immediately bolting, Barty's mind kind of stops working.

Evan doesn't call, doesn't send letters anymore. He's laser focused on helping his father's campaign or something equally stupid that does not work as an excuse.

Barty's thought of guys like that before, but he never thought of Evan being into guys. He's not homophobic, but he's not gay either. He's been around Regulus enough to know the terms.

He ends up confiding in Regulus about everything that happened and takes his advice.

The next time they meet, it's at the ministry.

Evan looks positively ravishing. Barty almost leaps across the room to drag him away. He knows Evan won't come willingly. He bribes and lies but he gets his way.

And it's just the two of them alone in a room again.

This time, Barty isn't stunned or hesitant. This time he kisses the way he wished he'd kissed back when Evan kissed him.

And well, it may not be a very easy road, but they make it eventually.

#marauders #rosekiller #barty crouch junior #evan rosier #rwrb alex #rwrb movie #rwrb #red white and royal blue #regulus black #hogwarts #dead gay wizards #the marauders

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dramioneasks · 6 months

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I’m looking for a story where Voldemort wins and Draco becomes the Minister of Magic I think. Hermione is a prisoner at Malfoy Manor and reads to Lucius because he has lost his eye site thanks to Voldemort. One of the elves makes Hermione pancakes daily. Does anyone know what fanfic this is?

Anyone?

#anonymous #unresolved fic search #voldemort wins #draco: minister of magic #kidnapping and imprisonment [hermione]#lucius #house elves #magical creatures #cooking and baking #au

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sneverussape · 1 year

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these photos were found among the personal effects of the late headmaster severus snape, the second of which caused lord lucius malfoy to draw in a harsh breath, drawing the attention of the other persons present, namely harry potter, boy-who-lived-once-more, professor-turned-headmistress minerva mcgonagall, and newly-elected minister kingsley shacklebolt.

“this was my father’s,” lord malfoy said, as his sterling grey eyes shone with recognition. his presence among the wizarding world’s heroes is part of reparation efforts following the conclusion of the Battle of Hogwarts just last may, where hundreds of persons perished, including snape. “i had given it to severus years before…when my father died. it was among his belongings. his mother and my father had been good friends in hogwarts. they were both in slytherin, and my father had taken a shine to her after she had robbed him blind after a game of gobstones.”

when asked if either the former lord malfoy or eileen prince had also been friends with tom riddle, also known as lord voldemort or the dark lord by the death eaters (of which both the current lord malfoy and professor snape were actively associated with), the fire in lord malfoy’s eyes immediately blazed forth.

“if they had been, severus and i had never been privy to that information,” he sniffed, his voice suddenly turning hoarse. further questions requested by the reporter were subsequently ignored.

only harry potter also seemed to recognise the first picture, but didn’t deem it significant enough to share what he knew.

“he was a soldier,” was the only thing he said, his hands trembling as he touched the photograph with reverence. “just like his father.”

— report by rita skeeter, 19 august 1998

—

snapecelebration2023 - tobias and eileen

#my art #hc #snapecelebration2023 #tobias snape #eileen prince #snape #hp

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mybutcheredtongue · 2 months

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I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

"Excuse me — sorry — just coming through..." you squeeze past the throes of people, trying to make your way to your seats with McGonagall. "Bloody hell."

You're starting to get quite agitated, though you're still brimming with excitement at the match ahead. McGonagall mutters something under her breath, gesturing subtly to your left. You follow her hand and groan.

There's Cornelius Fudge, and he's just after catching sight of the pair of you.

"Professors!"

Beside him, is a wizard you don't recognise, Mr Weasley, Ron, Harry, and Hermione. You smile widely at them, trying your best to ignore the fool beside them.

"Hello!" you say cheerfully, as yourself and McGonagall make your way over.

"Wonderful to see you as always, Minerva!" Fudge booms happily. He then gives you a weak, forced smile, and says, "And...you, too, of course."

"The pleasure's all mine, Minister," you say blankly.

He begins to chatter away with McGonagall and you can't help but notice the subtle annoyance in her expression. You turn to the kids and Mr Weasley, holding out your hand.

"Mr Weasley, right? It's wonderful to meet you — I teach your children Astronomy at Hogwarts."

Mr Weasley, a red-headed man just like the rest of his family, beams at you, excitedly shaking your hand.

"Ah, yes — I have heard plenty about you! You are here for the match as well?"

You grin. "Of course! Fingers crossed for an Ireland win!"

"Have you ever been to a World Cup, Professor?" Hermione asks you.

You nod. "Oh, yes. Quite a few, actually! Sirius used to — "

You pause.

"Seriously used to love it."

You exchange a glance with Harry, who gives you a small smile, and you return it.

"...ah, and here's Lucius now!" You catch the ends of Fudge's words and fail to hide your grimace.

Edging along the seats is a sour-looking man with disgustingly bleached hair, followed by his equally sour-looking son and his wife.

Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa, who's technically your...cousin-in-law?

"Ah, Fudge," says Lucius, holding out his hand for him to shake. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do? How do you?" says Fudge, smiling and bowing to Narcissa. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblonsk — Mr Obalonsk — Mr — well, he's Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. Let's see, who else — well, the professors teach your son, I'm sure — I daresay you know Arthur Weasley?"

Mr Weasley and Lucius look at each other, tension in the air. Lucius' nostrils flare as he looks Mr Weasley up and down derisively.

"Good Lord, Arthur," he says softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

You bristle, but Fudge, who conveniently wasn't listening, says, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"Trying to save a spot for when you go barmy, are you, Lucius?" you say with a sweet smile. "Or...has that process already started?"

His sour face turns to you, looking down his nose at you. "I would watch my tongue if I were you. I'm sure there's no lack of teachers for Hogwarts."

Ah, Lucius Malfoy. Always threatening my job, the sweetheart.

"Now, now, there's no need for heated words..." Fudge intervenes and you throw on a bright, charming smile.

"Not to worry, Minister! Why, myself and Lucius are old chums from school, aren't we? We're only bantering."

Lucius fails to hide his disgust. "Yes, old...chums."

"Well, isn't that just wonderful? And I'm sure you're close considering your...marital ties!" Fudge says awkwardly, eyeing you warily.

You sigh. "What an astute observation, Cornelius."

"We better get to our seats," Lucius sneers, and Narcissa and Draco follow behind them. Narcissa gives you and almost imperceptible nod and you glance at McGonagall from the corner of your eye.

She pulls out your tickets, glancing down at the seat numbers again.

"Looks like we've still got a ways to go," she says and you nod, smiling at your students and Mr Weasley.

"Alright, enjoy yourselves!" You say cheerfully.

They all say their goodbyes and the two of you set off again, finally reaching your seats among the crowd.

It's a good thing you found it too, because as soon as you sit into your seats, Ludo Bagman's voice suddenly booms over the excited chatter. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...WELCOME TO THE FINAL OF THE FOUR-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!"

Everyone screams and claps and you share an excited grin with McGonagall. The scoreboard lights up to show: IRELAND: 0, BULGARIA: 0.

"AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE...THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!"

"I've read about these," McGonagall says beside you, flicking open her programme. You glance over at it, before returning your eyes to the pitch.

A stream of beautiful women emerge, dancing elegantly around the pitch. You watch as they dance and twirl and spin, all to the delight of the crowd, particularly the men. They're practically drooling.

Beside you, a woman is angrily tapping her heel while her husband ogles the dancing Veela, entranced.

The Veela dance faster and faster, spinning and twirling, their hair flowing in the air behind them. Another man not far from you looks like he's about to jump into the stadium from his high seat.

Then they stop.

Everyone around you seems to be rather dazed and confused. Angry yells and shouts rise from the stadium. The crowd didn't want the Veela to go.

You begin to wonder whether the Veela is really ethical, considering the amount of men you can see taking off their shamrock hats and Irish flags. You pull the flag tighter around your body, like a blanket.

"AND NOW," Ludo Bagman roars, "KINDLY PUT YOUR WANDS IN THE AIR...FOR THE IRISH NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!"

You grin excitedly, clapping furiously as a steady beat starts from a group of men holding bodhráns at the Irish corner of the pitch. Two large spheres of light appear in the air, gleaming and shining. They spin rapidly towards opposite goalposts, before a rainbow appears and moves in an arc to connect the two dots of light. They rise to form a large, glittering green shamrock, and the crowd begins to cry out in delight as what looks like gold coins begins to rain down from it.

You cry out when a few coins painfully hit against your head, colliding with the soft skin. You rub the sore areas, scowling. You glance at McGonagall, checking if she's had the same problem, to find she has conjured up an umbrella for herself and is holding it above her head, deflecting the lethal coins. She looks very unimpressed.

Everyone around you is in bits, gleefully gathering up the shiny gold objects. One woman in front of you is stretching her shirt and making it into some sort of makeshift basket, collecting the coins there. A few fall into your lap and you pick one up, bringing it closer to your eye to inspect it. It's clearly fake — it doesn't have the same indentations as a regular galleon. There are going to be some very disappointed spectators here later.

Then, to your delight, a line of Irish dancers spill onto the pitch, their feet a flurry of movement beneath them, all in perfect sync. They dance and spin and twirl and kick high, spinning around the field before settling finally as the bodhráns stop and they return to the side of the field, sitting to watch the match.

"AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, KINDLY WELCOME THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM! I GIVE YOU — DIMITROV!"

A scarlet figure on a broomstick darts out onto the field at an incredible speed, to the raucous applause of the Bulgarian supporters.

"IVANOVA! ZOGRAF! LEVSKI! VULCHANOV! Volkov! AAAAAAND — KRUM!"

The scarlet players zip around the field, raising their arms triumphantly to the crowd of white, green and red Bulgarian flags.

"AND NOW, PLEASE GREET THE IRISH NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM!" yells Bagman. "PRESENTING...CONNOLLY! RYAN! TROY! MULLET! MORAN! QUIGLEY! AAAAAAND — LYNCH!"

Seven green blurs zip out onto the field and you cheer as loud as you can, waving your flag in the air. Excitement has properly settled over you now at the prospect of the good Quidditch game ahead.

"AND HERE, ALL THE WAY FROM EGYPT, OUR REFEREE, ACCLAIMED CHAIRWIZARD OF THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF QUIDDITCH, HASSAN MOSTAFA!"

A small, skinny wizard, completely bald with a moustache, wearing robes of gold strides out onto the pitch. He's carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, and his broomstick under the other. He mounts his broomstick and kicks the crate open — four balls burst into the air; the Quaffle, the two dark Bludgers and the miniscule, winged Golden Snitch. He lets out a sharp blast from his whistle, and fires into the air after the balls.

"THEY'RE OFF!" screams Bagman. "AND IT'S MULLET! TROY! MORAN! DIMITROV! BACK TO MULLET! TROY! LEVSKI! MORAN!"

The speed of the players is unbelievable — they zip around the field, throwing the Quaffle with such speed you'd think they were playing hot potato. Actually, that reminds you of a time when the lads decided to play a game of hot potato — with an actual hot potato. James had launched it at Sirius' face and you had spent the evening running his cheek under cold water, which resulted in a very put-out wet dog.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

1976

"Love, I'm sure we've been here long enough — "

"Fifteen minutes, Sirius! Fifteen. You should count yourself lucky I'm even doing this considering how stupid you have to be to even play that in the first place — "

"Come on, it was just a bit of fun — "

You point the tap at his mouth for a second and he blubbers dramatically.

"Not so fun now, huh?"

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

1993

"TROY SCORES!" roars Bagman, and you're plucked out of your memory to let out a loud cheer in delight. McGonagall jumps in her seat, just as happy, clapping her hands rapidly. "TEN-ZERO TO IRELAND!"

Troy does a lap of honour around the field and you gleefully hoist your flag in the air, waving it enthusiastically. Across the field, the Irish dancers cast glittering green shamrocks above each of their heads with their wands.

Within ten minutes, the Irish team have scored twice more. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, are whacking the Bludgers as hard as possible at the Irish Chasers, forcing them to abandon some of their best moves and formations. Ivanova manages to break through Ireland's ranks and score Bulgaria's first goal.

The Veela start to dance again as a celebration, and you wait impatiently for them to stop their enchantment and for the game to resume.

"DIMITROV! LEVSKI! DIMITROV! IVANOVA — OH, I SAY!" roars Bagman.

The crowd lets out a collective gasp as both Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummet through the centre of the Chasers, splitting them. They're neck and neck, speeding faster and faster towards the ground —

At the last second, Krum pulls up sharply and spirals off. Lynch, however, hits the ground with a dull thud that can be heard throughout the stadium. A groan is heard from the Irish supporters.

"What an excellent feint!" McGonagall comments, in awe. "Pity Lynch didn't realise."

You hum in agreement. "One of the oldest tricks in the book!"

"IT'S TIME-OUT!" yells Bagman. "AS TRAINED MEDIWIZARDS HURRY ONTO THE FIELD TO EXAMINE AIDAN LYNCH!"

The wizards hurry out onto the field, carrying medical bags with them. They sit Lynch up, giving him cups of potion to revive him. He finally gets up, much to the delight of the Irish supporters, and returns to the air on his broomstick.

Fifteen minutes of rapid playing, Ireland pulls ahead by ten more goals. You blink, missing an altercation between the two teams, causing Mostafa to give a sharp, shrill blow of his whistle.

"AND MOSTAFA TAKES THE BULGARIAN KEEPER TO TASK FOR COBBING — EXCESSIVE USE OF ELBOWS!" Bagman informs. "AND — YES, IT'S A PENALTY TO IRELAND!"

The Veela leap to their feet, tossing their hair angrily, and start to dance again. You watch as Mostafa has landed right in front of the dancing women, and is acting very odd. He's flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

You can't help but laugh, watching as he winks at the Veela, though he's unable to wink with one eye so he just...blinks at them.

"NOW, WE CAN'T HAVE THAT!" says Bagman, though he sounds very amused. "SOMEBODY SLAP THE REFEREE!"

A mediwizard streaks across the field, his fingers in his ears, and delivers a harsh kick to Mostafa's shins. He seems to snap out of his daze and starts to yell furiously at the Veela.

"AND UNLESS I'M MUCH MISTAKEN, MOSTAFA IS ACTUALLY ATTEMPTING TO SEND OF THE BULGARIAN MASCOTS!" Bagman cries. "NOW, THERE'S SOMETHING WE HAVEN'T SEEN BEFORE...THIS COULD TURN NASTY..."

It does: members of the Bulgarian team land beside Mostafa, furiously arguing with the referee. You see them point accusingly at the Irish side, whose bodhrán-wielding musicians have enchanted the covers to spell out "HA HA HA". Mostafa doesn't appear impressed, however, and is jabbing his finger in the air frantically, as if to tell the players to get back in the air.

"TWO PENALTIES FOR IRELAND!" yells Bagman and the Bulgarian crowd yells in anger. "AND VOLKOV AND VULCHANOV HAD BETTER GET BACK ON THOSE BROOMS, YES...THERE THEY GO...AND TROY TAKES THE QUAFFLE..."

The play just gets more and more ferocious.

"FOUL!"

You watch as, enraged, the Veela burst from their position and appear to be throwing handfuls of fire at the Irish mascots. Their faces are elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads and long, scaly wings are bursting forth from their shoulders.

"Oh, Merlin!" McGonagall exclaims.

Ministry wizards flood onto the field to separate the fighting Veela and the Irish mascots but with little success.

"LEVSKI — DIMITROV — MORAN — TROY — MULLET — IVANOVA — MORAN AGAIN — MORAN SCORES!"

The Irish cheers are barely heard over the chaos below, blasts are now coming from both the Veela and the Ministry wizards. Quigley launches a Bludger hard at Viktor Krum's face, seeming to break his nose. Blood gushes from his nose but Mostafa barely notices, too occupied with the furious Veela and the end of his broomstick which has now caught alight from one of their fireballs.

Then, you spot Lynch zipping through the air, seemingly in pursuit of something — the Snitch! But it's not long before Krum notices and takes after him at such a tremendous speed you can barely keep up. They hurtle towards the ground once more and you hope and pray that this isn't another feint from Krum and that Lynch'll pull up in time...but your prayers go unanswered and Lynch barrels into ground once more. You groan, watching as Krum lifts up, simultaneously raising his right hand, which was bunched tightly around the Golden Snitch.

The scoreboard flashes brightly, showing: IRELAND: 170, BULGARIA: 160.

The crowd erupts into incredible cheers and screams and you grin, raising your arms high in triumph.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouts. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good Godric, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

The Irish teams lands and dance gleefully around their mascots, as their dancers spin and twirl, throwing green and gold confetti around them. Flags are waved all around the stadium, the Irish national anthem blaring from all sides.

"AND, AS THE IRISH TEAM PERFORMS A LAP OF HONOUR, THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP ITSELF IS BROUGHT INTO THE TOP BOX!" Bagman roars.

You turn to the scoreboard, which has now taken on the form of the top box to allow everyone to see inside. The large, gleaming, gold cup is handed to Cornelius Fudge.

"LET'S HAVE A REALLY LOUD HAND FOR THE GALLANT LOSERS — BULGARIA!" Bagman bellows.

You clap your hands, joining the crowd in polite applause, as a very dejected Bulgarian team files into the box. Bagman calls out each of their names and they all shake hands with their own minister and then Fudge. Krum is nursing two black eyes on his bloody face, lumbering towards the two ministers. The crowd erupts into an ear-splitting roar when his name is called out.

Then comes the Irish team: Lynch is being held up by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seems to have rendered him much more dazed and confused. He grins happily as Troy and Quigley raise the Cup into the air and the crowd thunders its approval.

The team leaves the box, doing a victory lap around the stadium, and you gather up your things and stand.

"What a great match!" McGonagall exclaims. "Well worth the trip!"

You grin in agreement, and the two of you leave the stadium along with the crowd. High-spirited singing carries through the air, the Irish supporters rife with merriment and celebration as the two of your return to your campsite. A campsite next to yours has lit their fire again, and someone has produced a fiddle while the rest dance jovially. You grin, grabbing McGonagall's hand and pulling her towards the festivities. She seems reluctant, giving you a bit of a surprised expression, before she joins you in dancing around the fire mirthfully. You swap partners with another man and she fails to conceal her laughter as he twirls her around gleefully.

You find yourself with a woman, a long braid falling from her head to her ankles, who leads you in a jig around the fire. Finally, when yourself and McGonagall have tuckered out, you bid your goodbyes to the lively strangers and return to your tent.

McGonagall sits down at the little table, sighing contentedly.

"Tea, Minnie?" you ask, setting the teapot down on the table and grabbing your cup, pausing to ask her the question. You're a bit wary of calling her that, but your mood is so light that you find yourself not worrying about it.

"Please," she replies. She lets out a small, surprised chuckle and says, "Minnie."

"Has no one ever called you that?" You place a cup in front of her and sit down, opening the latch on the pot and prodding the teabags with a spoon.

"Only my husband, and my mother," she answers. "It has been quite a while since I've heard it."

"I'm sorry if I overstepped," you say sheepishly. "I won't call you that."

She doesn't answer you, eyes focused on the flame of the candle between you. Then she meets your eyes, a small smile playing on her lips, "No, do. We're friends, aren't we?"

You positively beam at her, honoured at the privilege she's just given you. You don't say anything in response, for fear of getting that privileged revoked.

After a while, you pour the tea out from the pot, grabbing milk from the tent's fridge and placing it on the table as well.

"Thank you for bringing me along, by the way," you say.

She smiles, waving you off. "Thank you for coming. I would have been very bored without you. And — though Bagman is a fine commentator, I think you would have been the better choice."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "I'm honoured you think that but...probably not."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"What, commentating? Yeah, I guess. It was pretty fun — "

"School. Do you miss it?"

You shrug. "I go back every year."

She sighs, giving you a knowing look. "Do you miss the time when you attended school?"

Miss it? Of course you miss it. That's like asking a prisoner 'do you miss the time before your imprisonment?'

"All the time," you reply softly. "It was the best time of my life."

There's a brief silence, before Minnie says, "I never thought you were mad, by the way. I know many make you out to be, but I've never thought it. When I look at you, I see an incredibly strong woman — perhaps a bit stubborn — but nonetheless an extremely intelligent woman, a woman well-worth listening to — and I fear you haven't been listened to enough in your life."

You don't even know what to say, you were not expecting that. You can't find the words at all, so you just look dumbly back at her and open and close your mouth repeatedly.

"I...I don't know what to say. You're amazing."

She chuckles, seemingly taken-aback, and just smiles again before setting down her empty cup and standing.

"Time for bed, I think. Goodnight."

You smile, sipping the last of your tea. "Goodnight, Minnie."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

*bodhrán: a drum used in Irish music

also, I changed the Irish mascots to be dancers instead of leprechauns, just because personally I find leprechauns to be a poor representation of Irish culture and never liked it in the books/movies!!

a big big thank you to my taglist loved for all their constant kindness and support:

@izuoyarmin @carpe00diem @wholelottalove05 @hyperspeedo

→ please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black #angst #angst with a happy ending #harry potter #the marauders #hp #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders

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pumpkinpastiesandcoffee · 2 months

Text

The Games We Play and The Lines We Cross

Lucius Malfoy x F!Reader 18+

Words: 2068 Warnings: NSFW, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it ppl).

~MDNI~

A/N: Fuck JK Rowling and her terf bullshit.

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Working as a secretary at the ministry required a lot more personal stakes than you had expected. The many late nights trying to stay on top of the paperwork for the minister while also making sure he had everything he needed, that you'd weeded out anything he wouldn't be interested in and so much more. Today it required you to keep the company of the illustrious Lucius Malfoy, well, that's how the minister put it, although his tone was fairly sarcastic. However due to the Malfoy's being quite the donors, the Minister had to bite his tongue and he made it quite clear that Malfoy was to be very well looked after while at the ministry, "You're to meet him at the entrance and stay by his side until he leaves."

So there you stood, waiting by the large fountain, eyes searching the crowd for a head of white hair and 2 minutes before his expected arrival you had spotted the man coming out of the floo network. This wasn't your first time attending to this man and you doubted it would be the last, so as usual you straighten yourself and head towards him. "Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy." Your voice taking on the sweet edge, it was a tone you’d learnt to use to make clients feel special. It's no wonder you were a Slytherin really. "Ms y/l/n" his tone was the opposite of yours, cold and indifferent, you knew he could be commanding with a voice like that and you were sure he would be terrifying when angry, the thought of which had you squeezing your thighs together. With a small bow you motioned for him to continue ahead. "The minister is in a meeting and asked me to extend his apologies. He'll be available shortly, in the meantime, I'll take you up to his office." Malfoy exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes flickering to you, "After you then."

The walk to the office didn't take too long, but Lucius was smart in sending you ahead of him. He got to watch the way your mid-thigh length skirt would ride up a bit as you walked, the way it showed every movement of your ass and hips had his eyes glued to it. Only looking away when he noticed you begin to turn to look back at him. This was the 8th time you'd taken him through the ministry, but it’s well over the 100th time Lucius Malfoy found himself thinking of you on your knees before him. Something about the tight skirt, fitted blouse and glasses, your presumably long hair twisted into a low bun with a few strands of h/c hair framing your face perfectly.

Unbeknownst to him however, you chose the shorter skirts for the days you'd be escorting him. Chose to leave the highest buttons on your blouse undone and when you leaned forward to pour him some tea you chose to do it at an angle that gave him the perfect view of your cleavage. Your eyes flickered over to his, catching him looking but instead of embarrassment or anger like he expected, you couldn't help the smirk that pulled at your full lips. Lucius raised a brow, tilting his head slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you turn away. "That's a dangerous game you're playing Ms y/l/n," he spoke with amusement, a dare to step over the line.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about Sir?" you played at innocence, seeing what he preferred, naivety or confidence. He clicked is tongue at you, a sound a teacher would make when you disappoint them, however he didn’t seem overly disappointed as his eyes trailed your form. Before either of you could take the banter further the Minister stepped in, eyes dull and with an air of utter exhaustion. “Cornelius,” Lucius spoke his name with a certain amount of contempt that only he could make sound enticing, the Minister however visibly tensed under the scrutiny of his grey eyes. “Ah, Lucius, good to see you again.” It was a lie; they both knew it and you wondered if the pleasantry would have been dropped had you not been there. Fudge turned his eyes to you and gave a short nod, “Would mind giving us the room dear?” “Of course,” and with a small bow you moved to leave, eyes flickering over to meet Malfoy’s one more time, lips curling into a coquettish smile before you closed the door behind you.

They had been in there about half an hour, the office had a permanent silence spell cast over it so you unfortunately couldn’t eavesdrop on them therefore opting to bide your time with sorting through a series of letters from the public. However, you found yourself perking up at the sound of the door opening. “Ms ‘y/l/n, would you walk Mr Malfoy out please? I’m going for lunch” Fudge spoke, and you stood up, moving to stand by them, smiling up at them both, “Absolutely Sir.” The Minister was quick to walk away and you found yourself looking back to Lucius. “I seem to have left my cane behind,” he mused, looking down at you expectantly. “I’ll go get it for you Sir,” and you headed back into the office.

You had just picked up the cane when you heard the door close, glancing up you were surprised to see Lucius walking over to you, left hand extended. You placed the cane in his hand and he took the opportunity to grab your wrist with his right, pulling you close to him. You were left breathless, eyes wide as you stared up at him, heart racing as you waited for him to make his next move.

“You’ve been very, lascivious, with me, perhaps it’s time I take advantage of that, hm?” his lips curled up into something between a smirk and sneer. It was hard to tell if he was interested or simply making fun of you but you decided to take a chance and inched closer. Placing your free hand on his chest, tilting your head back as your eyes flicked between his and his lips, “Perhaps you should, Lucius” your voice came out just barely above a whisper, breath fanning across his lips. The wizard had no more resolve to cling to and instead of trying he closed the already small gap and pressed his lips flush to yours.

The cane he had been holding was now discarded on the floor, left hand now cupping your jaw as he deepened the kiss. You were not one to submit easily, his tongue slid across your bottom lip and when you didn’t obey, he squeezed your wrist tightly causing you to gasp. He pushed in, exploring your mouth with force, as if he were trying to memorise it as quickly as possible. When he finally broke away you were gasping for hair, his own chest heaving for oxygen.

His eyes flicked over to The Minister’s desk, it was mostly bare, a quill and ink pot along side his name plaque. Deciding that was the best option he turned you around, hand still tightly holding your wrist as he pushed you against it, only letting go once he had you bent over the wooden surface. His hands now trailed down your sides, fingers digging into your hips as he pressed himself against you. He was already hard and the sentiment only made you wetter, thighs squeezing together in response.

“How long does Cornelius take for lunch” Lucius asked as one gloved hand slid under your skirt, slowly bunching the fabric up to your waist. “A-about an hour” you stuttered out, breath hitching again as he dragged the knuckle of his index finger down your clothed cunt, humming as his attention shifted to the clock above the desk for a moment, “Then we haven’t much time.” His fingers tracked back to the hem of your underwear, curling around the band before pulling them down, letting the lace fabric fall to your ankles. “I do wish I had the time devour you, but I’ll settle for ruining you instead.”

The sound you made in response was embarrassing, a whiny moan that only amused the man. You heard the sound of his belt being undone, followed closely by a zipper and you waited with bated breath for him to touch you again. This time when he did however it was the head of his cock that he ran through your folds, another whine causing him to chuckle. “So desperate for me, how very pitiful of you. I wonder if you’d even beg for me to take you.” You didn’t think before you spoke, a whimper followed by your voice pleading with him, “Please, Lucius. Please ruin me, please.” The groan from behind you was a divine sound, even more so when it dropped lower as he sunk himself into you.

The satisfied moan you let out had him gripping your hips tighter, his foot kicking your legs further apart as he began to set a steady pace. Lucius filled you beautifully, enough of a stretch that you were whimpering but not too much to cause discomfort. Your hands curled around the edge of the desk, using the leverage to press back into him, making his thrusts hit harder. “Lucius, gods, Lucius don’t stop” you have huffed out, both of you hitting a stride that was quickly tightening the coils in your lower bellies. He leant forward more, one hand reaching for your hair, entwining amongst the strands and tugging, the bun coming loose from the force.

With your head tilted back your mouth now hung open which made your moans come out louder. You were getting closer so you slipped on hand down, desperately circling your clit. Seeing you do this, Lucius moved the hand in your hair down to replace yours. His fingers were much larger and with the leather gloves he wore it was a smoother friction and it didn’t take much for you to cry out his name, nails biting into the desk as you pressed your cheek to the table. The feeling of your walls clamping around him sent him over into his own high, the grip on your hip most definitely would leave bruises. He leant against you, chest pressed to your back and his lips finding your neck as you both breathed raggedly, the highs of your orgasms wearing off.

After a few minutes he pulled himself away, sliding out of you with a stifled grunt before tucking himself back into his pants. You were still bent over the desk, legs now pressed together as you debated whether they could hold you up. Suddenly you felt his hands at your ankles, gently pulling the underwear you had on back up. It was quiet between you as made yourself presentable. When you looked back over to him, he was stood by the chair, cane in hand as his eyes watched you closely. Deciding that the worse he could do would be to push you away, you stepped back over to him, gently resting your hands on his chest. To your relief he leant down, allowing you the chance to kiss him again, this time however you found yourself running your fingers through his hair, the strands feeling as soft as silk.

“I best be going, if I’m still here when Cornelius returns there’ll be questions” Lucius spoke, his tone returning to neutral but not as cold as before. “Shall I walk you out still?” “That was your order, no?” Smiling gently up at him you did as you had promised and walked him back down to the floo network. He stopped, turning those stunning eyes back to you, “I’ll make all my appointments just before The Ministers lunch from now on, it seems better suited for me, don’t you think?” His lips quirked up into a smirk, and your cheeks dusted pink as you looked up at him, understanding the promise of more from him. “I can certainly make that work for you Sir.” With a short hum, he turned away and headed into line. You watched him leave before returning to your desk outside Cornelius’s office. The Minister returning only moments after you. “Malfoy didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” Cornelius asked as he pulled open his office door. “No Sir, no trouble at all.”

#lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy #x reader #reader #fic #harry potter #hp #smut #lucius malfoy x you #reader insert #lucius malfoy fanfiction #lucius malfoy imagine #lucius malfoy smut

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remus-poopin · 6 months

Note

Hi! Sorry to bother you but I’m looking for specific pieces of HP meta and I’m kinda lost.

Do you have any reading recommendations about homosexuality in the Harry Potter world? I’m trying to decide a couple of things about the world-building for a fic and I’d love to read about other takes on the topic.

Hi! It's not a bother at all I love this stuff! I have my own thoughts about this too and this is a question I often think about and I was planning on writing something about this eventually anyways so I'm glad I got this ask because now I have a excuse to! (And I can talk about some gripes I have with the author as well so yay)

CW: Homophobia and misogyny

Here is a meta by @thecarnivorousmuffinmeta on homophobia in the wizarding world.

Here is @hchollym's take on gay marriage in the WW

The books give no mention of homosexuality explicitly, but the author has slightly expanded on the topic at later times in interviews and tweets. In 2007 she confirmed that Dumbledore was gay and later she gives us more details about his sexlife. She then said this in 2007 about homosexuality and homophobia in the wizarding world:

"MA: 'We wanna talk about Dumbledore so bad. We know that you've created worldwide intrigue when you said that he is gay. But I wanted to ask you about homosexuality in the Wizarding World in general. Is it a taboo?' JKR: 'Now, that's something I never thought of. I would think that that would be-- it would be exactly what it is in the Muggle World. But the greatest taboo in the Wizarding World is, well, for some wizards... I mean if we're talking about prejudiced people within the Wizarding World, what they care most about is your blood status. So I think you could be, um, gay, pure-blood, and totally without any kind of criticism from the Lucius Malfoys of the world. I don't think that would be something that would interest him in the slightest. But, you know, I can't answer for all witches and wizards because I think in matters of the heart, it would be directly parallel to our world.'"

She also says this in a tweet about homophobia in 2014:

“Only by ludicrous Muggles. The wizards don't give a damn - it's all about the magic for them.”

Now whether or not you take this to be canon is up to you. What I think is interesting here is I feel as though we are made to think that homosexuality is a non issue in the wizarding world and not a point of prejudice by the second statement. From her first statement she says that its “something she never thought of” and I'm guessing her second statement is contradictory because she wanted to appease LGBT+ fans and reassure them that Hogwarts is a safe space (for some, lets not ask her about the other letters in the acronym).

This is a pattern I've noticed JKR exhibiting in a lot of her post book words in which she is trying to communicate how egalitarian the world she created is through her new information, while the text does not reflect this worldview. I think a good example of this is how when she listed the ministers of magic she included several women, going back as far as the 1700s to try to show there are not as many barriers to entry for women in the WW. Yet we see many instances of sexism throughout the series from the characters. I think what she was trying to do is have her world primarily focus on blood purity, and creature rights and have the issues we face either go to the backburner or not be present at all. Now I understand this choice, (though I really don’t think it's necessary, more interesting or remotely realistic) but I also think her execution is pretty awful because you can (and I'm about to) make an argument that these issues are still very present in the wizarding world. I think the biggest issue here is that she doesn't understand the structures and systems of oppression that she handwaved to the side to truly write a world where they would not be a real problem. To me, given what we've seen of the wizarding world, homophobia would still very much be an issue.

So I think if we're going to talk about what homosexuality looks like in the wizarding world we would also need to talk about what homophobia would look like in the wizarding world. Homophobia has many factors contributing and working with it to make it function as prejudice and a system. If I had to break it down to its biggest parts I would say our big three is: religious fears, rigid gender norms, and disgust. Those often play off each other to create an effective tool for upholding a power structure in society by subjugating certain members. Let's examine these in the context of Harry Potter.

Religious fears:

Religious fears resulting in homophobia is very common in the real world but for this factor to apply to the WW I think we would need to determine whether or not the wizarding world is even religious. We have examples of christianity showing up across the books in casual ways, Harry has a Godfather, he was christened as a baby, and Lily and James have a quote from the bible on their tombstone. From this we can at least make the assumption that the Potter family is religious to some capacity. We also see that one of the Hogwarts ghosts is called “The Fat Friar’. But to my knowledge this is where the references end. If the wizarding world is religious, or at least wizarding Britain, they seem to be casually so. So I don't see this being a huge driving factor in any homophobia we would see in that universe.

Rigid gender norms:

I think if you take away any religious influences you're still going to see homophobia even in its most violent forms and this has a lot to do with rigid gender norms. If gender norms are established to sustain a power structure that a society relies on to maintain a certain order, any breaking of those norms will be met with punishment (socially or physically). In a heteronormative culture, homosexuality can be seen as a breaking of these norms.

First off, Pureblood culture seems to be obsessed with lineage and creating heirs, In one of the meta I linked it talks about how homosexuality would be a threat to that. At least in pureblood society, your job as a man is to make pureblooded babies and your job as a woman would be to give birth to them, anything else would be looked down upon.

If we step outside of pureblood society, we can see that the general wizarding population also seems to have strict ways in which men and women should act.

So what are the gender roles the wizarding world has? Well there are the clothing, all wizards wear robes, but dresses are traditionally for women and any robe that looks a little to dress-like for a man could be seen as embarrassing:

“'What is that supposed to be?' He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long maroon velvet dress. It had moldy-looking lace frills at the collar and matching lace cuffs. - ‘Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress,’ said Ron, holding it out to her. ‘Of course I haven't,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘Thats for you, dress robes’.- “You've got to be kidding’ said Ron in disbelief ‘Im not wearing that, no way!' - In some trepidation Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn't as bad as he expected, however. His dress robes didn't have any lace on them at all - in fact they were more or less the same as his school ones, except they were bottle green except black” (GOF, pg 155 and 156)

“Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville changed into their dress robes up in their dormitory, all looking very self conscious, but none as much as Ron who surveyed himself in the long mirror in the corner with an appalled look on his face. There was no getting around the fact that his robes looked more like a dress than anything. In a desperate attempt to make them more manly he used a severing charm on the ruffs and cuffs." (GOF, pg 411)

There are cultural roles:

“‘Come on, Ginny's not bad,’ said George fairly sitting down next to Fred. ‘Actually , I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us…’ ‘she's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking’ (OOTP, pg 574)

There is no ostensible reason for Ginny not to be able to play Quidditch with her older brothers, even if she was too young at one point, very soon after she should have been able to, considering Ron was only a year older. From this we can assume that wizards, or at least the Weasleys, have a view of femininity as more fragile, or weaker than masculinity. This idea is reinforced through the founders of Hogwarts making separate dorm rooms for girls and boys where boys cannot enter the girls dorm but girls can enter the boys, this also positions men as aggressors in a sexual sense.

There are sexual roles, any time there is slutshaming in the series a women is at the end of it. Hermione is seen as a “scarlet women” for appearing to toy with Harry's heart:

“I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of - scarlet women!’ Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. ‘Scarlet women?’ - ‘It's what my mum calls them’ Ron muttered." (GOF, pg 513)

Ginny is constantly facing accusations of behaving a little too promiscuously by her family.

“'Let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron -' ‘Yeah it is!’ Said Ron just as angrily. ‘D’you think I want people saying my sister’s a-’ (HBP, pg 287)

"'my tiara sets the whole thing nicely, said Aunt Muriel in a rather carrying whisper, 'but I must say, Ginevra's dress is far too low cut.'" (DH, pg 145)

Merope Riddle is called a slut for running off with Tom Riddle Sr.

"'dishonored us, she did, that little slut!'" (HBP, pg 365)

All of these instances are made to seem as negative and as a breaking of the societal norms. The norm being women as chaste, demure figures of virtue.

We've established these gender roles, and we've seen there are consequences when you fall out of line. So, what if the gender role calls for you to be masculine as a man and then defines that masculinity in part with obtaining women and sexual prowess? Homosexuality would be in direct conflict with that. And with that lets tie it into disgust.

Disgust:

The disgust that a homophobe feels can be stemming from a couple different places. Maybe it's religious fears like we talked about or maybe it's because of gender norms. But that disgust is only taking place because they perceive something they hold to be pure being tainted and violated; the word of god, the sanctity of masculinity, or hegemonic gender roles. In a society where these beliefs are upheld and treated as sacred, any conflict with that will be met with judgment at best and violence at worse.

I don't see the wizarding world as a progressive space where homosexuality or anything LGBT+ would be considered a non issue because the text does not reflect that. The text shows the same misogyny, the same disdain for femininity, and the same reverence for masculinity that we see in everyday life and because of that I feel it only makes sense to see the wizarding world just as bigoted as ours.

Ok so what does homosexuality look like in the wizarding world then?

Well if we've established the wizarding world as a society that would be hostile (in any way) to gay people I think its easier to move forward on how to imagine how they fit into that society since we have ours for reference. However, Its important to remember that our oppression doesn't define us and its not the only thing to consider while writing. Think about what the fashion would look like, what the music would sound like, what the spaces would be like and just generally what the culture would be. Have fun with it!

Hope this helped a little!

#what does homosexuality look like in the wizarding world? short anwser: Sirius Black #also sorry i took so long to anwser this i was busy failing my exams #hp meta #harry potter meta #harry potter #hp #ginny weasley #the weasleys #james potter #lily evans #molly weasley #albus dumbledore

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