#bradford elijah pendleton iv

[lifeofkaze]

You can never have too much soup! Until you do and then you get sick and okay I'll stop

Oh I loved this one. I know it might not look like it, considering how long this took me but trust me - I did.

Characters featured (both fully and in mention) belong to @the-al-chemist @thatravenpuffwitch @kc-and-co and @slytherindisaster

“Trust me, this is going to be funny.” “I’m not sure I share your perception of funny, old chap.” Bradford Elijah Pendleton IV swallowed uncomfortably. Nervously, he glanced to where the object of their current conversation was sitting in the shade with her friends. “It sounds dangerous, if anything.” "I must say, I agree," Jim Hexley butted in from the side, sounding as nauseous as Brady himself felt. "There's people you don't trifle with." He couldn't have said anything more wrongly. Rising to what he perceived a challenge, Lysander Mercury got to his feet from their spot in the cloisters of the clocktower courtyard and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Oi, Iceberg!" The shoulders of the witch his words were aimed at stiffened, her already pinched-looking face growing tighter still. Sighing heavily, she put down her book and shared a meaningful look with her friends. "How can I help you, Lysander?" "Go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?" Carolyn Pendleton froze, the only indication that she had heard him a slight twitch in her sharply outlined eyebrows. Next to Lysander, both Brady and Jim shifted in their seats. "Pardon me?" "You head me right." Lysander grinned, stretching his arms above his head. "You, me, the Three Broomsticks. Sounds marvellous, doesn't it?" Caro inhaled deeply, a smile forming on her face that was so sweet it made Brady fight the urge to duck his head. "I'd rather dip my head in a boiling cauldron, strip down naked and run around the Black Lake in a hailstorm but thank you anyway. It was sweet of you to consider me." Lysander grimaced. "Oh, what a shame. I shall not be able to continue to live, having suffered such a blow. Except..." Screwing shut his eyes, Lysander's face began to change. His smooth skin grew deep lines around a suddenly hard mouth. His hair, golden in the sunshine, darkened to a deep brown streaked with lines of silver. Wrinkles appeared between his now bushy brows, and a stubble as well as a close-cropped beard was covering his cheeks. He cracked his neck from side to side, the long scar running from the top of his hairline to the corner of his mouth shimmering subtly in the light. His transformation complete, the image of Potions Master Aesop Sharp wiggled his eyebrows at the gaping girls. "How about now?" Caro's cheeks flashed an alarming shade of pink, pinker than Brady had ever seen them. One of her friends giggled into her hands, biting her lip upon receiving an icy look from Caro. Then, she turned her steely eyes onto Lysander. "If you, for one sliver of a moment, think..." "And what would be the meaning of this?" Lysander froze, and so did Brady, Jim, and the girls in the shade as a shadow fell over Lysander - a shadow that bore a striking resemblance to the features the young shapeshifter's face had taken. Swallowing, Lysander's face returned to its normal form in less than a heartbeat. "Nothing, Professor Sharp. I was merely trying to brighten these lovely ladies' day." "Of course you were, Mercury." Professor Sharp gave him a long look, then turned his attention to the girls, who all of a sudden sat up straighter than they had a moment before. He nodded at Caro and the witch sitting right next to her. "Nyberg, Selwyn. With me. I have need of some competent potioneers to help me catalogue the latest delivery of nightshade and moondew." Brady could have sworn the Potions Master's eyes had grazed him on the word 'competent'. Across the courtyard, Caro and her friend Adelia Selwyn almost - almost - scrambled to their feet, whispering among themselves. Brady didn't think he had ever seen Carolyn Nyberg this flustered. As the two of them hurried past Brady and his friends, Lysander couldn't help himself. His eyebrows turned dark and bushy once more, wiggling as he whistled lowly through pursed lips. If possible, Adelia and Caro walked even straighter and with their heads held high but the flush climbing up their necks was undeniable as they hurried away.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 36

A/N: the night of the ball has finally arrived, and Ophelia is determined to make the most of this opportunity.

Warnings: Ophelia’s usual antics, plus fake-dating trope gone wrong.

OCs featured/mentioned: Carolyn Nyberg, Selene Fraser, Alan the ferret and Henry Lovecraft @lifeofkaze, Bradford Pendleton, Ivy Anders, Oliver Gerard and Eliot Gerard @kc-and-co, Adelia Selwyn @thatravenpuffwitch, Marigold Sterling and Cledwyn Ironwood @that-scouse-wizard, Victoria Summer @whatwouldvalerydo, Primrose Gray @endlessly-cursed, William Devlin and Maxwell Pembroke @unfortunate-arrow, Lydia Ellis @mjs-oc-corner

May 1897

The night of the Celestial Ball had arrived at last, and it was everything Ophelia had dreamed it would be. The Great Hall had been transformed into a grand ballroom, with the tables vanished to make enough space for people to dance, and a large obelisk in the very middle. Even the enchanted ceiling appeared more star-filled than usual, as if the very sky knew that this night was going to be one where something magical might happen.

Ophelia observed the scene from one of the seats that lined the walls of the Great Hall. Carolyn, Adelia, and Marigold were all on the dancefloor; Caro with Bradford Pendleton, Adelia with Teddy Ellison, and Marigold with Lydia Ellis. All three of them looked beautiful in their dress robes, and were the very pictures of poise and grace as they danced with their suitors.

The Slytherins were not the only ones who were looking and dancing exquisitely. Hufflepuff’s Ivy Anders flashed Ophelia a wide and friendly smile as she paraded past on the arm of Maxwell Pembroke, while Gryffindor’s Oliver Gerard and Victoria Summer appeared to be saving their smiles for each other. Primrose Grey from Ravenclaw was among the best dressed, smiling as she danced with her fiancé William Devlin. Ophelia felt a pang of jealousy. It was not fair, really. Primrose’s parents had picked out a wealthy suitor for her as a child, and she did not even need one. She clearly had enough money for pretty dresses and dance lessons without one.

As for Ophelia herself, she had managed to magically alter the dress her mother had bought her for birthday so it looked brand new and far fancier and more fashionable than it was in reality. She had arranged her newly blonde hair very prettily and applied a subtle amount of Marigold’s rouge to her cheeks in order to accentuate her newly green eyes. But as of yet, no one had asked her to dance with them.

It was peculiar; she looked as close to being beautiful as she ever would, and the stage had been set perfectly for her to showcase that, but somehow, she still found herself waiting in the wings. She had so many potential leading men, but she had yet to become a leading lady. Sitting to the side of the dance floor next to the wall, she may not have even been part of the ensemble. No, she was merely a piece of the scenery.

She was trying to act as if nothing was vexing her - after all, no gentleman would want to dance with a lady who did not smile nicely - but she was finding it increasingly difficult to not show how disappointed she was by this turn of events. Still, she was able to force a smile as Carolyn approached her, Bradford at her side, the two of them having retired from the dancefloor.

“Ophelia, are you not dancing?” Caro asked her, and Ophelia shook her head. “Why, has no one yet asked you?”

“No, sadly not.”

“Now, that simply will not do. You must have a dance,” said Brady. Ophelia looked at him hopefully, but his eyes had started to scan the dancefloor. “I’m certain that we can find someone to dance with you. Let’s see… Ah, just the person. Jim, old bean!”

At the sound of his name being called out, Jim Hexley walked towards the group. When he reached them, Brady etched around to clap him on the back.

“Jim, my friend, we have a young lady who wishes to dance and has no partner to dance with, and I see that you appear to have misplaced your dance partner.”

“Oh, well, I… I have not misplaced her. That is to say, I am quite certain of where she is. Over there, look.” Jim pointed in the direction of the refreshment table, where his twin sister Ethel was drinking pumpkinade with her own dance partner, Cledwyn Ironwood. On her other side, Selene Fraser was intently listening to something that Eliot Gerard was telling her.

“I take no joy in being the man to deliver this news to you, old chap, but it would appear that there are three of you in this partnership.”

“Yes, but then that… that has been the case since the beginning of the evening.”

As Jim spoke, the small, minky-furred body of a ferret climbed up over Selene’s shoulder and came to rest there, a small bow tie tied around its neck. Brady guffawed, Jim chuckled, and even Carolyn’s lips twitched a little.

“So, what do you say, Jim?” Brady asked, once he had finished laughing. “Fancy a turn about the room with Miss Burke here?”

Jim cleared his throat before nodding his head. “Uh, yes. Of course. It would be my pleasure. An honour. I… Ophelia, would you like to dance?”

Ophelia considered the offer. Jim Hexley was not the sort of wizard she had hoped to dance with. He was a decent enough fellow, but not at all wealthy. Still, one had to start somewhere, and everyone knew that a gentleman showing interest in a woman was sure to garner the interest of other men. So, she took Jim’s proffered hand and accompanied him to the dancefloor, where the couples had just begun to dance along to the polka music being played by an unmanned orchestra.

“I am afraid that I… I am not the best dancer,” Jim apologised. “Ethel and Selene did teach me - or attempted to teach me, I should say - but their efforts, I fear, have been in vain.”

“Do you think that is why Miss Fraser has set her sights on Eliot Gerard?” Ophelia asked. Jim shook his head. His face looked somewhat saddened. “Are you upset by this snub?”

“No. Not at all,” Jim almost smiled. “Selene and I are just friends. Perhaps more like family, with how close she and my sister are.”

“Then why do you seem downhearted?”

“It is nothing. I mean, I am not. I… Well, I had wished to accompany someone else tonight. I am sorry.”

“That is very well. I had wished to accompany someone else, as well.”

“Really? Who?”

“No one in particular. Just someone of status.”

“I see,” Jim nodded slowly, frowning. “I feel that I must be a disappointment.”

“It is better than dancing with no one at all, is it not?” Ophelia asked him.

“I am not certain that I agree. I… It seems to me that the more dances one has with others, the more one misses the company of the one they truly wish to dance with.”

“Well, maybe if the one you wish to dance with sees you dancing with another, she will find herself wishing that it was her you were dancing with and miss you in return.”

Jim looked thoughtful. “That is what my sister said. But so far, Héloïse has barely looked at me.”

“Does she know that you and Selene are only friends, and that Selene has also been accompanied by her ferret?”

“I… I do believe that she does.”

“Then perhaps this is why your sister’s plan has not worked. Say, I have an idea,” said Ophelia, suddenly feeling hopeful again. “A ruse, one which will allow us to help one another. If we each appear to be enjoying the other’s company as we dance, then other wizards shall wish to dance with me, and… Héloïse, did you say? Perhaps Héloïse will take notice of you at last. What say you?”

“It is as good a plan as any, I suppose,” Jim sighed. “How… How should I act towards you.”

“You may start by smiling,” Ophelia told him, and Jim laughed quietly to himself. “See? You are doing quite well already.”

They smiled at one another as they danced, barely talking. Jim did not seem to want to talk much, seeming to be too preoccupied with counting his steps to attempt to hold a conversation. Eventually, though, he asked her:

“Is it working? The ruse?”

“I think it is, yes,” Ophelia said. She looked around her at the boys at the edges of the hall. Several were looking at her, including Henry Lovecraft, who was watching the scene with the little dark-haired, dark-eyed girl at his side. “Héloïse is looking at us.”

“She is?” Jim’s eyes brightened. He cleared his throat. “Is she… What is she doing?”

“At present she is talking with Henry Lovecraft.”

“Ah.”

“He is putting an arm around her shoulders.”

“Oh.”

“I do believe that he is attempting to comfort her,” Ophelia informed Jim, watching as Héloïse took a deep breath and blinked rapidly. “Yes, she looks quite upset.”

“What? Is she-”

“No, don’t look, you’ll ruin the ruse,” said Ophelia. “It is working, is it not?” Jim nodded, but he looked doubtful. Ophelia turned her attention back to Héloïse and Henry Lovecraft. “She is sad, but Henry is saying something to her. She is shaking her head, and has stepped away from him.”

“She has?”

“Yes, but he’s taken hold of her hand. Oh, but she’s taken her hand back. She’s taken another step away from him. She… Oh.”

“What?” Jim asked urgently. “What is she doing?”

“I do not know,” said Ophelia. “She has left. She ran that way.” She pointed in the direction of the main doors out of the hall, and Jim turned his head to look, his lips parting and his arms falling to his sides. Ophelia sighed. “You should go after her.”

“Are you… You do not mind my leaving?”

“Of course not. The ruse has served its purpose.”

Jim bowed his head to her, and she curtsied back. And with that they parted ways, their ruse over. And it had worked. For as Jim rushed out of the Great Hall, Ophelia returned to her seat by the wall with more eyes on her than ever, knowing fully well that this time, she would not remain a wallflower for long.

[that-scouse-wizard]

Take your pick between Reuben & Siobhan - David & Orion - Marigold & Brady or all of them if you feel like it

You gave me the option for all of them... so you’re getting all of them mate!

Reuben and Siobhan

-These two absolutely note down the birthdays of any dragons or magical creatures they rear and celebrate them like they would for a person.

-Frequently discuss books that they’ve read in the Ravenclaw common room.

-If ever these two get to meet up they do so over a glass of one of the Willows spirits and always swapping stories of their adventures with magical creatures. Also discussing their partner’s accomplishments.

-Reuben is insistent that Siobhan be one of the first to see Connor after he’s born.

-These two have definitely baked cakes and pastries together.

David and Orion

-David met Orion in first year after receiving a letter from his dad about joining him for Christmas. Keep in mind this pissed David off as he had little contact with his dad in years.

-He didn’t actually get Orion’s name at first but learned who he was from Sprout after asking about the odd senior student who had told him “To go forward, sometimes we must go back. Whether you discover something or not, you shall find an answer.” Basically, go to your dad’s and you might get closure.

-Orion saw the potential in David and Judith Harris (@judediangelo75) as beaters. This was how he convinced Erika to train them both went:

Erika: “Why should I train these two, Amari?”

Orion: “Because if you don’t, Phoenix will.”

Erika:...

Erika: “Right! You two! Start swinging, I want to see your form!”

-David occasionally joins Orion for broom-balancing sessions alongside Amelia as a form of meditation.

-Orion named David his successor as captain during his last moment of vivification.

Marigold and Brady:

-They formally introduce themselves in their first year, Brady was going through a bit of artist’s block but when Mary’s fiery locks caught his eye he knew exactly what he wanted to draw.

-While at first he would help her design clothes by providing a visual reference, he soon started teaching her how to draw.

-These two definitely have duets in the music club, the two of them either playing their instruments or singing together.

-She’s definitely making a suit for Bradford that will absolutely help him wow Carolyn ( @lifeofkaze ), she’s basically Hogwarts’ resident matchmaker at this point.

-While Cledwyn and Reuben might be two of her best friends, she’s supporting the Slytherin Quidditch team every time they play. She’s one of the loudest voices in the stands cheering Bradford on.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 34

A/N: after an embarrassing encounter, Jim decides to face his fears at last…

Warnings: mild angst, pining.

OCs featured/mentioned: Bradford Pendleton @kc-and-co, Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Selene Fraser, Alan the ferret, Henry Lovecraft and Carolyn Nyberg @lifeofkaze

April 1897

It was lunchtime, but Jim wasn’t hungry. It was also time for his Art Society meting, but he was not feeling particularly creative, either. He only felt nervous, but he knew that he could not let his nerves get the better of him. So, he took a deep breath and swallowed the hard to get the knot out of his tongue.

“Very well… I’ll just say what I wish to say, then,” he said. He cleared his throat. “And, er, what I wish to say is… Well, it’s this. I’d very much like to accompany you to the ball. To the Celestial Ball. As your friend. Actually, no. Not as your friend. I mean, yes, we are friends, but I’d like for us to be more than that. And perhaps, if you’d grant me the honour of… of your company next weekend, we might make our first, um, steps in that direction. How does that suit you?”

Jim’s offer was met with silence. He sighed.

“That was no good at all, was it?” he asked. “Well, if at first you don’t… Try and try again. Right. It’s the Celestial Ball next weekend, and I know lots of people are partnering up for it, and I wondered whether you might like to partner up. With me, that is, not... So,what say you, Héloïse?”

Héloïse said nothing, because Héloïse was not there to say anything at all. Jim was merely practising asking her, and her stand-in was the only person Jim could think of who would neither judge him for his stutter, nor interrupt him whilst he was speaking. However, he could have used some constructive feedback. Perhaps he should have practised on a person rather than a ferret.

“Okay, Alan,” said Jim. “Third time lucky, yes? Well, I really do enjoy your company, and I consider you to be a very dear friend. I also think that you are… incredibly beautiful and… I’d rather like to escort you to the ball on Saturday. Only if you’d like me to, of course.” Jim sighed. “I wonder if I perhaps should not mention the beautiful thing. It’s rather… forward, don’t you think?”

In response to Jim’s question, Alan the ferret twisted around on the desk to nibble at the base of his tail. He made no noise, but somewhere nearby a snickering noise could be heard. Jim frowned. The noise was coming from behind a cupboard.

He pulled out his wand and walked towards it, and the snickering grew louder, and louder, until he came around it to find…

Ethel and Selene, sitting with their backs against the cupboard, their knees tucked up by their chests and their hands pressed to their mouths, in a poor attempt at stifling their giggles.

At the sight of his sister and her friend, Jim lowered his wand, and at the sight of him, they dropped their hands from their mouths and gave into their laughter.

“For the love of Godric,” Jim said crossly. “This isn’t… It isn’t funny!”

“Oh, but it is!”

“It really, truly is!”

The two girls laughed even harder, their eyes watery and cheeks pink.

“Stop laughing, Ethel!”

“I cannot,” Ethel wheezed. “I cannot stop. Oh, Jimmy. I did not realise you held such strong feelings for Alan.”

“I can see for why you would,” said Selene. “He is a very fine ferret.”

“A beautiful ferret, or so I’ve heard it said.”

“Indeed, I believe I have heard that said, too.”

“Unfortunately, Jim, Alan shan’t be accompanying you to the ball. He prefers to form attachments with his own species. I’d strongly suggest that you do the same,” Ethel told him. “I know that Mamma and Pappa are rather liberal in their views, but this might be too much for them to take. And I dread to think what Héloïse would think of you having such an unnatural-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Jim snapped at his sister, far louder than he had intended. Ethel blinked, but otherwise appeared nonplussed.

“Suit yourself, Jimmy. We have far more interesting people to spend time with. Ferret-fancier or not, you still bore us terribly.”

She and Selene stood up and crossed the empty room. As they did, Selene scooped Alan the ferret up into her arms and threw a dirty look at Jim over her shoulder.

“Don’t you fret, Alan. We shall take you far away from this nasty depraved boy.”

Jim sighed loudly as he watched them disappear from sight, before picking up his things and making his way through the castle to the empty classroom where Brady and Lysander were having their meeting.

“Jim, old chap,” said Brady. “You’re late. What kept you?”

“My sister.”

“Ah.”

Lysander frowned. “What’s the matter with frog-face this time?” he asked. “Bitter that no one’s asked her to the ball?”

“I’m not sure,” Jim replied. “Someone might have asked her.”

“Really? Who?”

“I don’t… What does it matter to you? You despise Effy.”

“It doesn’t,” said Lysander quickly. “And I do. I was simply wondering whether or not we might have a lunatic in our midst, that is all.”

“I see,” Jim nodded slowly. “Have either of you two asked anyone?”

“Indeed I have, old bean. I’ll be escorting Carolyn Nyberg.”

At Brady’s announcement, Lysander’s eyebrows shot up.

“Perhaps we do have a lunatic in our midst,” he muttered. “There is a fine line between lunacy and bravery, or so they say. Carolyn Nyberg… You’re a far braver wizard than I am.”

“And me,” Jim sighed. Brady’s eyebrows furrowed, and so he explained. “I cannot even pluck up the courage to ask Héloïse.”

“Really?” Brady shook his head. “But, Jim, this is your perfect opportunity to get closer to her.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“So why on earth have you not taken that opportunity in both hands? Carpe diem!”

“Precisely for that reason,” said Jim. “It is too… I feel a lot of pressure, and that makes me too nervous. I try to ask her, and then when I do, my mouth goes dry and my words get stuck and I can’t say anything at all.”

“Not even a word?”

“No. Well, yes. In a way. The other day I managed to tell her that she has lovely handwriting.”

“Ah,” Brady said. Lysander looked up from his sketch.

“Does she?” he asked.

“Does she what?”

“Have nice handwriting.”

“Oh, yes. Very nice handwriting. Small and neat and pretty and French… Like you’d expect, I suppose,” Jim told Lysander, who exchanged glances with Brady. “Um… What?”

Brady rolled his eyes and placed his head in his hands. “I simply cannot cope with this,” he said. “You must ask her.”

“But… Excuse me!”

Jim’s mouth fell open as Lysander pointed his wand at his hand, the one holding his favourite sketchbook. The sketchbook shot up into the air and hovered above Jim’s head, tantalisingly out of reach of his fingertips.

“Here’s a bargain for you, Jimbo,” Lysander said with a smirk. “You can have the sketchbook back when - and only when - you ask Héloïse to attend the Celestial Ball with you.”

“But that’s… Brady, make him see sense.”

But Brady chuckled and shook his head.

“Jim, old chap, I think Lysander is making perfect sense. You require a - pardon my French - jolly good kick up the derrière.”

“That’s…”

“The library is two corridors away. If you hurry, you’ll have a companion for the Celestial Ball and your sketchbook back by the time we start afternoon lessons.”

Both Lysander and Brady’s faces were earnest, and Jim knew that there was no persuading either of them to give him back his sketchbook, not until he had done what he had so far failed to do. He sighed angrily, as frustrated with himself as he was with his friends.

“Go on, old chap. Be bold.”

“Carpet demon,” said Lysander, and Brady put his head in his hands again.

Jim left them alone and walked through the two corridors to the library, his heart beating faster and his feet growing heavier with each step. He was not ready for this, he would never be ready for this. What if he was unable to get his words out again? What if he did, and she laughed at him? What if she said no? Oh, Godric… What if she said yes?

He found Héloïse in a quiet corner of the library, far from the noise that was coming from the librarian’s desk, where his sister was pestering Madam Khanna about something, he did not care what. At this moment, he cared bout nothing but managing to be bold, to ask Héloïse to attend the ball with him, and getting his sketchboook back from Lysander.

“Héloïse,” he said as he approached her. Slowly, she raised her brown eyes from her astrology textbook and regarded him with a look of curiosity.

“Jim. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Héloïse.”

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke. Jim swallowed hard three times and cleared his throat.

“Héloïse, I was wondering…”

“To what… Sorry. I am… intruding your speaking.”

“No, I’m sorry,” said Jim. “You continue.”

“I was to ask why you are here, but I think you are now to tell me,” Héloïse said with a wry little smile. “What have you wondered?”

This was it. Jim’s chance. He had to take it. He had to be bold.

“I wondered whether anyone had already asked to accompany you to the Celestial Ball, and if no, then whether you might allow me to accompany you.”

Jim spoke faster than he had intended. It potentially was too fast, for Héloïse frowned as if she had not understood his meaning.

“You are wanting to… escort me to the ball?” she asked, and Jim nodded.

“Yes. Yes, indeed. I… It would be my privilege. Only if you wish to do me that honour, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Jim was half-hope, half-achingly deep despair and longing.

“I… Jim, this would be nice.”

His heart skipped a beat. “It would?”

“Yes,” Héloïse smiled sadly. “But… Unfortunately, I cannot to go with you. I am sorry. I have promised to my friend Henry that I will to go with him. I did not think… I am sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” said Jim. He forced himself to return Héloïse’s smile, in spite of the fact that he felt more like crying. “A promise is a promise, and… I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“For… asking, I suppose. I hope that this shall not ruin our… our friendship.”

“Friendship, yes,” Héloïse nodded. She swallowed and looked down at her book. “I must to study.”

“I must to go… I must be going. I shall see you soon. At the ball, maybe.”

Héloïse said nothing in response, just stared at her book, already clearly engrossed in it. Jim walked away from her, focusing on the sound of his footsteps echoing on the floor of the library, for her knew that if he did not focus on something, his thoughts would fly to Héloïse, and then he would look back. And if he looked back, then the tears that pricked his eyes would start to run away from him, and he would start to cry in front of everyone.

And if that happened, he might never be able to be bold again.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 24

A/N: Jim has an encounter with a green-eyed monster…

OCs featured: Bradford Pendleton @kc-and-co

Warnings: none.

October 1896

The new term, and Jim’s fifth year, was well under way, and Jim had so far found himself incredibly busy. Between the additional homework and Saturday lessons, he and his classmates had less free time than before, and so it was not until a month into the term that he, Brady, and Lysander were able to organise their first Art Society meeting of the year.

Having gathered his sketchbook and graphite from his dormitory, Jim set off for the library, where he had agreed to meet Brady prior to the meeting.

As he reached the top of the stairs, the wooden doors of the library opened, and he felt his face flush as he recognised the person who had stepped out into the corridor in front of him.

“Héloïse,” said Jim.

“Jim,” said Héloïse. There was a pause, during which neither of them spoke. “Hello.”

“Ah. Yes. Um, hello. Sorry,” Jim cleared his throat. “Are you… That is to say, I do hope that you are well.”

Héloïse frowned slightly before responding, “I am not so bad, thank you. And you are well also, I am hoping?”

“Yes, quite. Very well also, yes. Have you been reading, or studying, or… What have you been doing in the library?”

“I am trying to learn my… lessons.”

“Which lessons?”

“The ones of tomorrow. No,” Héloïse shook her head. “Yesterday. I am sorry. I am a little tired, I am thinking.”

“Of course,” said Jim. He cleared his throat again. “Well then. I do not wish to keep you.”

“To keep?”

“Yes, um… Sorry…”

Jim tried his hardest not to seem disappointed as he looked at the somewhat bewildered expression on Héloïse’s face. In spite of writing to each other weekly over the summer, the two had barely shared more than five conversations since returning to the castle, and each time they spoke, it had been stilted and awkward. Jim was not certain what he had done wrong, but he knew that he was likely to be at fault somehow.

The library doors opened once more, and Bradford Pendleton the Fourth emerged from behind them, a silk scarf draped over his shoulders and his own sketchbook tucked under one arm.

“Jim, old bean!” Brady clapped Jim on the back with the hand not holding a sketchbook. “Ready to sketch? Jolly good day for it, I must say.” He did a double-take at Héloïse and bowed to her theatrically. “Pardonnez-moi, Madamoiselle. Héloïse, comment ça va?”

“Oh,” Héloïse shrugged, her lips slightly pursed. “Comme ci, comme ça, comprends?”

“Pas si bien, hein? Mais, pourquoi?”

Héloïse sighed heavily, before beginning to speak to Brady in a fluent stream of French, which Jim did not understand. Brady, however, apparently did understand her perfectly, for he nodded and made noises and verbal responses - also in French, also incomprehensible to Jim - at intervals as she spoke. All the while, Jim stood beside him, surplus to requirements, a dark feeling somewhere between pain and anger growing in his chest as he did so.

As the feeling grew to the point that it was unbearable, Jim turned around and left Brady and Héloïse to continue their conversation without him, and stomped down the corridor to the empty classroom the boys liked to use for their meetings without even uttering a word. He had no words to say, neither in English nor in French, not to Héloïse nor to Brady, who was able to understand and converse with Héloïse far more easily than Jim could ever hope to do. It seemed unjust, all things considered. Brady always made friends so easily; why did he feel the need to take one of the few friends Jim had?

“Hexley!”

Brady’s voice and the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, both interrupting Jim from his thoughts and vexing him further. He turned to see Brady striding towards him, and scowled.

“What’s wrong, old chap?” Brady asked. “I thought that we were going to go to the society together.”

“I decided to go alone.”

“Oh,” Brady frowned. “You should have said, rather than just take off like that. I had to leave Héloïse all alone, and she was quite taken aback by how abruptly-”

“You did not need to do that,” said Jim. Though his voice trembled slightly, for once, he did not stutter. “You could have continued without me. The two of you did not require my presence to hold your conversation.”

“That is not the point. I think Héloïse was quite upset by it, you know.”

“I don’t see why. She was perfectly happy talking to you.”

“Perfectly happy?” said Brady, incredulously. “Hexley, did you not understand a word she was saying?”

“No!” Jim snapped. “No, I did not understand a word, because unlike you, I do not have the luxury of having been taught to speak French.”

Brady took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Jim, my good man,” he said, with the diplomacy of a politician, “that is precisely what she and I were talking about, and why we were holding that conversation in French. She doesn’t have many friends to talk to, you know.”

“But that’s… Well… I was just talking to her!”

“In English, which she struggles to understand, and finds even harder to speak.”

“That’s not true,” Jim shook his head. “No, her English, it’s… it’s good. Remarkably good. We… we wrote to one another over the summer, and-”

“You wrote. You did not speak.”

Jim pursed his lips as he considered Brady’s words, and his eyes widened as he realised how true they were. Writing was different. There was so much more time to consider one’s thoughts and words, to decide what one wanted to express and how precisely to do it. He knew this. After all, he never stuttered when he was writing. He should have realised before that Héloïse would have the same problem as he did, he should have been more sympathetic, and he should definitely not have begrudged her having the companionship she deserved, even if he was not the one to be able to provide that.

“I… I have been a… Well, perhaps I should not say it,” he said, and he swallowed. “I am sorry, Brady. Truly, I am.”

“That’s quite alright, old bean,” said Brady, clapping Jim on the back. “Though I do not think that I am the one you should apologise to. After all, you walked away from Héloïse as well as me, and I am not the one you feel strongly about, am I?”

“Well, I… I feel for both of you,” said Jim, frowning. “You are both very… The pair of you are good friends to me.”

Brady guffawed and used the hand on Jim’s back to shake him from side to side. “You understand my meaning, Hexley.”

Jim’s frown deepened. He was not certain that he did understand Brady’s meaning at all.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 15

Summary: the Art Club has a new member, and Jim asks for Brady’s help.

OCs featured: Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Bradford Pendleton IV @kc-and-co

Warnings: one lovesick teenage boy.

March 1896

The still relatively young Hogwarts Art Society was about to start its tenth meeting. It was a somewhat momentous occasion; not only did this meeting mark the fourth month of the society’s existence, but they were also welcoming their first female member.

“I was not aware that you had an interest in art, Ophelia,” said Lysander, frowning at the newcomer.

“I have many interests,” was Ophelia’s response.

“Ah. Do you prefer sketching or painting?”

“Yes.”

Lysander shared a look with Jim, and both boys quickly averted their eyes from Ophelia.

“Where is Brady, I wonder?” Jim thought out loud. “We are… That is to say, we were supposed to be practising with colour today.”

As if on cue, Bradford Pendleton the Fourth sauntered into the classroom that the society had commandeered for their meetings, a large leather sketchbook tucked under one arm.

“Dreadfully sorry, old chaps,” he said, before doing a quick double take at Ophelia and adding, “and lady.” He bowed his head to her as a greeting, and Ophelia immediately smiled and sat up poker straight in her seat. Brady took his own, still talking as did so, “I got caught up in a conversation, you know? That poor new girl, the French one-”

“Héloïse,” said Jim, without even meaning to say anything at all. The name echoed in his ears, like it had done for a few weeks previously, ever since he had learned of Matilda’s true identity.

“Yes, Héloïse Perrault, that is the one. She has been attempting to teach herself English. I did offer to give her lessons, but she was not too keen on that idea. Seems like she’s doing a far better job on her own than I’d have expected, generally speaking, but she had a few questions about some specifics. Didn’t think that she’d want to approach Nyberg, for obvious reasons, so I thought that I’d help her out,” Brady continued, levitating his open sketchbook onto an easel as he spoke. “Jolly nice girl, though perhaps a little too French, if you understand my meaning.”

Jim did not understand Brady’s meaning in the slightest, but then he did not speak any French, nor any other language besides his native English, for that matter. His mother had attempted to teach both him and Ethel Latin as children, but it had been a somewhat fruitless endeavour. Ethel may have been good at the subject if she had put any effort into her learning whatsoever, but Jim was nearly hopeless, in spite of his labours. He had been relieved when his mother had given up on the idea of teaching the twins Latin entirely, less than a year after first commencing the lessons. Now though, he was beginning to regret not having persevered with his second language. After all, it might have been useful. Brady’s ability to speak French was certainly proving useful to him, at least.

“It must be rather… well, lonely,” Jim mused, realising that no one had spoken for several moments. “For one to be unable to understand or communicate with those around them, that is.”

“Oh, yes. Jolly lonely, I’d wager,” agreed Brady. “But I’m certain that she will pick it all up soon enough. She seems like an intelligent sort of person.”

“But until then…”

“Now, don’t you fret, old chap. There’s plenty of us here that have had French tutoring during our youth, after all.”

“Would you be able to tutor me?” Jim asked, before he could stop himself. When Brady gave him a quizzical look, he cleared his throat. “That is… What I mean to say, rather, is that if more of us were to speak her language, it might be, uh… Well, there would be a more welcoming environment, would there not? And, well, they do… they do say that French is a, uh… a wonderful language to learn, and, um…”

“I would also like to learn to speak French,” said Ophelia, and Jim nearly passed out from the sheer relief he felt not to have the others’ eyes solely on him anymore. “Naturally, I also had many private tutors growing up, but sadly, my education was somewhat lacking where foreign languages are concerned.”

Brady appeared to consider the proposal for a moment, before once more pointing his wand at his barely touched art materials, and with a single flick of his wrist, packing them all away.

“Very well, chaps,” he said, placing his wand back into his pocket and making his way over to a blackboard at the front of the classroom. “Let’s all learn some French.”

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 14

Summary: in this very short chapter, Ethel tries to help her new acquaintance.

OCs featured/mentioned: Selene Fraser and Carolyn Nyberg @lifeofkaze, Adelia Selwyn and Gwen Archeron @thatravenpuffwitch, Bradford Pendleton and Siobhan Llewelyn @kc-and-co, Frederick Lavigne and Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Leila Hellebore @whatwouldvalerydo.

Warnings: one borderline NSFW joke.

February 1896

With the echo of the school bell still ringing in her ears, Ethel ran at full pelt all the way from the Ancient Runes classroom to the Great Hall, half-dragging Matilda behind her.

“Where are we going?” Selene called out, sprinting after them in order to catch up.

“To find someone for Matilda to talk to!”

“But she is a mute.”

“No,” Ethel replied, shaking her head. She looked across at Matilda, who looked a little flushed as she struggled to keep up with Ethel’s long legs. “She isn’t a mute, she’s French!”

Reaching the Great Hall, Ethel slowed down and took a look around the room before making a beeline for the Slytherin table, where Carolyn Nyberg and Adelia Selwyn were sitting with the other girls from their dormitory. As she, Selene, and Matilda approached them, the Slytherin girls fell quiet, regarding the newcomers with looks of suspicion.

“May we help you?” asked Adelia, casting an apprehensive glance at her well-dressed companions.

“You may indeed,” Ethel told her, and she pushed Matilda forward. “Have you met Matilda?”

Adelia gave Matilda a small smile. “You must be Siobhan and Gwendolyn’s new dorm mate.”

“She is, but there’s no point talking to her about it.”

“Not in English, anyway,” Selene added.

“She doesn’t speak English?” Carolyn Nyberg, who was sitting next to Adelia, raised her eyebrows.

“Not even one single word,” said Ethel. “That’s why I brought her here to you. I heard that the Slytherin dormitories are simply rife with cunning linguists.”

Carolyn did not return Ethel’s impish smile. Instead, she pursed her lips, looking more disapproving than ever.

“Well?” asked Selene. “Will you help us, or no?”

Carolyn sighed loudly and impatiently. “So be it. What languages does she understand?”

“Runic and French.”

Ethel had barely finished answering Carolyn’s question before Adelia smiled at Matilda once more and began to talk to her in French. Matilda’s dark eyes lit up, and she began to speak out loud and fluently in the same language, her voice and face wildly expressive.

As Carolyn joined in the conversation, her voice must have caught the attention of Bradford Pendleton and Frederick Lavigne, as the two boys appeared from further down the table, and both of them began to talk to Matilda as well. By the time the usually quiet Leila Hellebore had begun to contribute to the discussion, a small crowd had gathered to watch the scene.

“Is that Matilda?”

“I didn’t think she could speak!”

“She’s never said a word to us, and we share a room with her,” muttered Siobhan Llewelyn. “I just thought that you didn’t like us, Matilda!”

“Well, you can hardly blame her for that,” Bradford retorted, switching seamlessly from French to English. For once, Carolyn Nyberg actually appeared to be amused. “After all, you all insist on calling her Matilda all the time. Her name isn’t Matilda, it’s Héloïse.”

“Oui?”

At the mention of her name, Héloïse stopped talking to Adelia mid-sentence, and looked across at Bradford, who slipped back into French to talk to her once more.

“So, if she’s not a mute, and she’s not called Matilda… Does that mean that she isn’t a champion yodeller, either?”

“Of course she isn’t, Lysander,” Ethel snapped. “Really, just when I was beginning to think that you might not be quite as stupid as you look, you say something like that.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Effy,” Lysander hissed back, and Ethel scowled at him. “I know that it’s hard not to eavesdrop with ears as big as yours, but could you at least make the effort to try?”

Ethel took a deep breath and took a step away from the Slytherin table. Now that she had helped Héloïse to find her voice, it was time to use her own. After all, she always had several choice words to give to Lysander Mercury.

[lifeofkaze]

Not So Bad

Happy Birthday to my snarky queen, the one and only Carolyn Nyberg 💚💚💚

Thank you for not making a fuss and giving me hell while you peacefully enjoyed quality time with your friends.

Not.

I love you, you little shit 😂

MCs featured belong to @kc-and-co (Brady Pendleton), @that-scouse-wizard (Marigold Sterling), @thatravenpuffwitch (Adelia Selwyn) and @the-al-chemist (Ophelia Burke)

Like most young girls, Carolyn Nyberg was usually looking forward to her birthday.

This year though, she couldn’t have been any less excited about turning twelve if she’d tried; it was the first birthday she would be celebrating at Hogwarts, far away from anything she’d ever called home.

Back on her family’s estate on Saddleworth Moor in Yorkshire they would have cake and cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and for once, Caro was allowed to do whatever she wanted to do, instead of what was expected of her. Or at least, until the arrival of her parents’ guests, ready for their annual and incredibly dull birthday soiree.

Her activities of choice mostly involved something far away from her loud and simple siblings, just some time on her own, alone with her thoughts. Today, however, it seemed impossible for Caro to find a quiet moment in the whole castle of Hogwarts.

It wasn’t like the other students of her house wouldn’t leave her alone, quite the contrary; Caro had made sure no one would think to annoy her with empty chit chat and meaningless blabbering.

Caro had been at Hogwarts for a little over two months now and had yet to find a person worthy of her attention; so far, no one had proven even the slightest bit interesting. She was well aware that her dislike of the rest of the student body was mostly mutual, but that wasn’t worth her attention either.

Even so, there didn’t seem to be one undisturbed moment for her to collect and focus her thoughts. Everywhere Caro turned there was an incessant stream of boring talk. It had already started at breakfast when her family’s magnificent owl had swooped over the Slytherin table, one small parcel attached to each of its legs.

Caro had subdued a sigh at the curious glances from the other students and had quickly tucked the gifts away, but the looks and whispers hadn't been lost on her.

She opened her presents in a quiet moment in her dormitory before classes would start. The first gift was wrapped in thick, silvery paper, adorned with a green bow and the crest of the Nyberg family. Inside Caro found the gift her parents had sent her, a beautiful emerald necklace, along with a very formal letter.

The second one Caro was more eager to open; it was square and heavy, a book most likely, clad in simple but high quality beige wrapping paper. A fleeting smile scurried over Caro’s face when she unpacked the collection of her favourite Swedish poems.

She opened the first page, taking out the pressed twinflower Grandmother sent with every gift and letter. She twirled the pale pink flower between her fingers and read the dedication written on the first page in a strong, curved hand:

Grattis på födelsedagen, min älskling. Håll huvudet högt och tungan skarp.

Caro’s lips pursed before she smiled again. Keep your head high and your tongue sharp; the same thing her grandmother wished her every year.

She flicked through the pages of the book, catching a verse here and there. Caro had been born and raised in England, daughter of an English mother from an old English family, but she couldn’t help it; in her heart, Caro had always belonged to the North.

Up on Gotland the days would be short by now, only a few hours of light every day. Maybe Grandmother would have already seen the first Northern lights flickering over the night sky; the thought made Caro smile.

An unexpected wave of homesickness washed over her and she closed the book with a sharp snap. This was neither the time nor the place to be sentimental.

The whole day this bothersome feeling of missing her family wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard Caro tried to ignore it. So she resigned to paying extra attention in class, and took her notes with utmost diligence. After all, if she only concentrated hard enough, everything was bound to get back into line eventually.

Potions was set to be the last class for the day. The most subtle subject on their curriculum required a lot of care and quick thinking, instead of foolish wand waving. From their first day it had proved to be Caro’s favourite.

She was lingering behind after their class had been dismissed. She wasn’t perfectly happy with the finished result of her Antidote to Common Poisons, even though she had received ten house points for it.

Since anything but a perfect potion was acceptable for Caro, she decided to try again from scratch.

She worked in concentrated silence, enjoying the peace and quiet surrounding her. The only sounds were the sizzling of the fire, the bubbling of the potions, and the dull thud of Caro’s knife on the chopping board.

She had just added the finishing touches to her potion and was rummaging through a cupboard for appropriate vials to put the antidote in, when she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

Caro looked up, and made a small, dismissive noise when she saw Marigold Sterling, a reserved girl with garishly red hair from her dorm, stand behind her.

“Oh,” Caro said, “it’s you. May I help you?”

Her tone made it very clear that engaging with Marigold wasn’t something Caro actually had a mind for, but Marigold wasn’t deterred.

“I - that is we, the girls and I - have been wondering where you might be.”

“Now you know,” Caro said coolly, but regretted it an instance later.

Marigold wasn’t exactly her friend, but Caro had to admit she wasn’t the worst company imaginable. They had seen each other on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, and Caro had been half glad, half surprised to see that there was another person who needed almost a whole compartment for their luggage.

For a reason Caro had yet to find out, Marigold watched her bottle the antidote and label it, all the while chatting over today’s class. Caro disliked smalltalk, but she found talking to Marigold was enjoyable, and talking about Potions was anyway.

“How long will it take you to finish that?” Marigold asked her, and nodded her chin in the direction of Caro’s cauldron.

“Why are you asking?”

“I thought we might return to the common room together.”

Caro stopped writing and cocked an eyebrow. “You came from the common room to find me, so that I could go back to the common room with you? Is that not slightly ludicrous?”

Marigold’s lips twitched, but she didn’t seem fazed by Caro’s comment. “So, will you come with me?”

Caro shrugged and put the last of her utensils away. “I suppose I don’t have anything else to do.”

On their way to the Slytherin common room they shrouded themselves mostly in silence; or at least, Caro did. Marigold continued blathering, the ancient stone walls ringing with her incessant stream of chatter. Caro found her behaviour somewhat odd, all the while growing increasingly irritable.

They reached the bare stretch of stone wall hiding the entrance to Slytherin House and stepped inside the common room. Caro found it to be rather crowded, probably due to the weather getting colder by the day.

Her eyes scanned the groups of students, unsure of where to go; to not let her insecurity show, Caro squared her shoulders and raised her chin a little. Even so, many of the eyes she met were surprisingly friendly, some of them even smiling her way.

Her brow furrowed, and she quickly looked away with a sharp turn of her head as Bradford Pendleton - the Fourth, she scoffed internally - nodded a greeting towards her; she’d rather pull every hair off her head one by one than give that unremarkable boy her parents had made the unfortunate decision to betrothe to her the satisfaction of recognising him.

She smoothed out the non-existent creases in her dress and crossed the common room without looking at another person. Marigold was already standing at the door that would lead them to the dormitories. Caro had no desire to spend any more time with her, but it was better than sharing the room with all of these mindless oafs and their empty heads.

When they stood in front of their dormitory, Marigold rested her hand on the handle of the door and paused. Her eyes flickered to Caro, who crossed her arms impatiently.

“Have you forgotten how to open a door?”

“I’m not sure you’re going to like this,” Marigold said hesitantly. “I do hope that you won’t be cross with us.”

Caro raised an eyebrow, but before she could say anything Marigold pushed the handle and the door to the dormitory swung open.

“Surprise!”

Caro frowned and slowly stepped into the room.

The dark wooden table in the centre of the dorm - usually littered with school materials, hair brushes and jewellery - was covered with a white, starched tablecloth, and laden with plates full of fruit, sandwiches and cakes. Two steaming tea pots were sitting in the middle, and there even was a vase with a beautiful arrangement of flowers, one additional flower lying on each of the plates set up for four.

Behind the table stood the other two girls sharing the room with Caro and Marigold, Adelia Selwyn and Ophelia Burke. Adelia beamed at Caro, her blue eyes sparkling, while Ophelia was more reserved. Her smile was thin as they flickered to the rich assortment of delicacies laid out before them.

Caro blinked rapidly and she cleared her throat.

“What exactly is this?”

“Why, it’s your birthday party, of course!” Adelia smiled broadly. “We went for such a lovely walk for mine a few days ago, but it’s too cold now. We’d freeze to death, would we not? So we figured why not warm ourselves a little, now that the cold season is upon us?”

Caro remembered Adelia’s birthday vividly. She’d come along on the walk around the Lake as it was the appropriate thing to do, and if Carolyn Nyberg had been taught one thing, it was proper manners. She hadn’t been listening to the conversations, however; somehow she doubted she’d missed something.

When Adelia walked around the table, an elaborately packaged gift held in her hands, Caro accepted it with a nod and an automatic smile, thanking her politely. She sat down on her bed and unwrapped it carefully, her lips twitching into the hint of a genuine smile when she opened the wooden box inside.

It contained three antique looking vials, bedded on soft wood wool, the glass cut and carved in beautiful patterns. They shimmered in the unsteady light filtering into the room from the high windows beneath the water of the Lake.

Caro took one of the potion vials out and turned it between her fingers, appreciating how heavy the glass felt in her hands.

“They’re beautiful,” she said and meant it. She raised her eyes to Adelia, who looked something between happy and relieved. For the first time the smile on Caro’s face didn’t feel forced. “Thank you.”

“They’re from my own collection,” Adelia said. “You love Potions as much as I do, so I thought you might perhaps enjoy these as well.”

Caro carefully set the vials aside and Marigold and Ophelia handed her their gifts next; Marigold had stitched a fox and Caro’s initials on a silk handkerchief, and Caro had to admit that the handiwork was impressive. From Ophelia, Caro received an old, beaten looking book with Potion recipes.

Caro’s eyes went wide as she opened it.

“Is that a first edition?” she whispered and ran her finger over the old parchment. “Where on Earth did you get that?”

Ophelia’s face was stony. “I have my connections.”

Adelia frowned, and looked over Caro’s shoulder at the book. “They have this very same book on display in the Restricted Section in the library. You can see it when you walk past.”

“What do I care about the books in the library?” Ophelia said stiffly. “I buy them if I need them.”

Before the atmosphere could shift, Marigold and Adelia poured the tea and the four girls gathered around the table.

“I know it may not be perfect,” Adelia said with an apologetic shrug, “but we only learned that it’s your birthday this morning, so everything is a little impromptu.”

“It’s better than tea at the Great Hall, in any case,” Caro said wryly, but she had to admit the display was rather impressive, especially given the amount of time they’d had to put it together.

“I wouldn’t have thought any of you was friendly enough with the house elves to get them to arrange this for you,” she said and sipped her tea. “Or did that Gryffindor girl help you? What’s her name? Summerby? She loves to bake.”

“She does,” Adelia said, “and talking about it, too.”

The girls shared a chuckle, but the thought wouldn’t leave Caro alone.

“How did you do it, then?” she wanted to know.

“Brady helped,” Marigold said.

Caro must have looked confused because she added, “Bradford, Bradford Pendleton. You would know him, of course. He is on good terms with some of the house elves.”

Caro frowned at the mention of Bradford’s name.

“Of course he would be acquainted with them,” she scoffed, “it’s easy to mistake him for one.”

“He really is rather good company, once you get to know him,” Adelia said and helped herself to another cup of tea.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Adelia is right,” Ophelia said quietly. She hadn’t spoken much so far, and didn’t meet Caro’s eyes as they turned to her. “Brady is pretty nice.”

“You should give him a chance, he might yet surprise you,” Marigold agreed with the other girls. “Someone who is such an amazing artist can’t be all bad and dull, can he now?”

Caro was surprised to hear that. “He paints? How odd. I wouldn’t have thought that of him.”

“There’s more to people than meets the eye. I dare say that you are more than your haughty attitude as well.”

Shocked at her bluntness, Adelia’s and Ophelia’s eyes darted to Marigold who sipped her tea patiently.

Caro, however, found her honesty refreshing. And Marigold did have a point, a book was never best judged by its cover.

They continued chatting and enjoying their tea party until the lights hanging from the stone walls of their dormitory lit on their own accord.

Even though they were full with pastries and sandwiches, the four girls joined the stream of students leaving the Slytherin common room when it was time for dinner. They walked side-by-side, continuing their conversations, and for the first time they weren’t just walking in the same space, but actually together.

When they sat down at their house table in the Great Hall, a contemplative mood got hold of Caro. Her eyes wandered over Adelia and Marigold, who were discussing the stitching on Marigold’s dress, and Ophelia, who was sitting very straight, listening attentively but not joining the conversation.

If there was one thing Caro found hard it was admitting that she had been wrong, but maybe the people here weren’t so bad after all.

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she saw Bradford Pendleton, who sat a little further down the table, raise his cup to her in a silent toast. After a quick moment of consideration, Carolyn raised her own glass and saluted him back.

No, the people certainly weren’t so bad, she thought to herself as she brought her drink to her lips.

Her time at Hogwarts might even prove interesting after all.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 4

A/N: Jim struggles to find a quiet place to practise sketching.

Warnings: None.

OCs featured: Selene Fraser and Alan the Ferret @lifeofkaze, Ivy Anders and Bradford Pendleton IV @kc-and-co

OCs mentioned: Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster

November, 1895

As November arrived at Hogwarts, the weather took a turn for the worse. Wintry winds whipped through the trees of the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake swelled with the abundant rainwater, and the students spent their break times wrapped in thick cloaks and woollen mittens, if they were brave enough to venture outside at all.

However, when the rain lifted and the dark clouds dispersed, everything was golden, as it was this particular Saturday morning, as Jim took the opportunity to enjoy the crisp autumn air and rare glimpse of sunlight. He left the Hufflepuff common room a little while after the Quidditch team had departed for their practice, just as dawn was bound to be breaking over the castle.

Jim was somewhat surprised to see his cousin Ivy leaving the common room at the same time as he was, a black and yellow scarf looped around her neck, and her blonde hair covered by a soft woollen bonnet.

“Where are… Are you going for a walk as well?” Jim asked her, allowing her to walk in front of him as they reached the barrel doorway at the same time.

“I’m going to watch the Quidditch,” Ivy responded. Seeing Jim’s frown, she added, “I know that it’s just practice, not a real game, but I am rather intrigued to see what tactics they intend to use in the upcoming match, that is all.”

“Ah. Yes, I see. That’s… That’s admirable.”

Ivy chuckled to herself, and placed her hand on Jim’s arm as they strolled through the castle together.

“And you, Jimmy? What great adventure awaits you this morning?”

“No adventure. I am going to sketch,” Jim cleared his throat. “The, uh, light at this time of day - at daybreak, that is - it’s something that I would like to… to capture. Or attempt to capture, rather.”

“I’m certain that you shall,” Ivy smiled. “You must show me some of your sketches one day. It has been eight years since you first picked up a pencil, and I’ve yet to see a single drawing.”

“I’m afraid that there is not… They are not very good.”

“Now, that I shall never believe.”

Jim bade farewell to Ivy at the grounds, and settled himself at a spot from where he could see both the castle and the forest. He took out his pencils and sketchbook, and started to draw the castle, paying particular attention to where the early morning light caught on the rooftops and windows, on the face of the clock tower’s clock, the wings of an owl flying towards the headmaster’s office. The autumn sun gave him a little warmth to balance out the cool breeze that lifted his hair, and there was a distinct stillness to the morning. It was peaceful and quiet.

But not for long.

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!”

Jim tensed as he recognised the voice shouting out across the grass behind him. Of course he recognised that voice. He’d been hearing it ever since he was born.

“Close bosomed friend of the aspiring sun!” Ethel continued to shout. Judging by the volume of her voice, she was either talking louder or getting closer. Or, knowing Ethel, possibly both. “Conspiring with him how to load and bless with fruit the vines which round the thatch-eves run!”

Hearing the leaves crunching behind him, Jim snapped his sketchbook shut. Not a moment too soon, either, for a second later, both Ethel and Selene had joined him on the grass, each of them leaning over one of his shoulders, presumably in the hope of seeing his drawings.

“To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,” Selene read aloud, having taken the leather book Ethel had been holding out of her hands. “And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; to swell the gourd and plump the hazel-”

“What do you two want?” Jim said irritably, interrupting Selene mid-line.

“Nothing,” said Ethel, wide-eyed. “How could we possibly want for anything when we have all this beauty around us? Is there anything in nature that holds more delight than an autumn morning?”

“Oh, yes,” Selene nodded, and reached into the pocket of her cloak. “Ferrets, for one.”

From her pocket, Selene produced her mink-coloured ferret Alan, and placed him onto Jim’s lap, as Ethel picked up a handful of autumn leaves from the ground and started to sprinkle them over the top of Jim’s head. He sat stock still. Hopefully they would get bored soon and leave him alone.

“Do continue, Selly, my dear,” Ethel said, picking up another handful of leaves. “I was quite looking forward to hearing about the plump hazel.”

“To swell the gourd and plump the hazel shells with a sweet kernel,” Selene obliged. “To set budding more, later flowers for the bees, until they think warm days will never cease-”

“Do you think… That is to say, could you perhaps, um, read poetry elsewhere?” asked Jim, already tired of being crawled on by a ferret and covered in leaves. “I came here to sketch in peace, just that. I really don’t want to listen to your nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” Ethel gasped. “This is Keats, Jimmy. Keats!”

“Philistine,” Selene muttered under her breath, and both girls sighed heavily.

“I don’t care. Please could you… Would you just leave me alone?”

“It must be so terribly dull, being you,” said Ethel, but the two girls did as he asked, for once.

But even though they were not bothering him anymore, they were still being incredibly loud, reciting poetry as they jumped into piles of crunchy autumn leaves and knocked conkers together, cackling. It made it hard for Jim to concentrate, and besides, he felt self-conscious and exposed, sketching with them so close to him.

He decided to leave them to it, but not wanting to waste the light, he did not give up entirely. Instead, he went to the lake, hoping to try his hand at capturing the light on the water.

However, when he got there, he realised that he wasn’t the only person to have had the same idea. Standing by the lakeshore, an easel and small canvas in front of him, was a Slytherin boy from his own year, who he knew by face and reputation, though the two boys had never spoken.

“Sorry. I’m dreadfully sorry,” Jim stammered. “I didn’t meant to- to disturb you.”

“You are not disturbing anything, old chap,” the boy said, not taking his eyes off the lake. “I’m just painting, that’s all.”

“I’m just sketching.”

“Sketching,” the boy wrinkled his nose. “Would you not want to add colour when the sunrise looks like this?”

The Slytherin boy was right. The sunrise was beautiful this morning, with the rich colours in the sky reflecting on the still surface of the black lake.

“I’m not… Well, I am not much of a painter,” Jim admitted. “I can sketch, a little. I can’t say that I’m any good at that, either, though. Not really.”

“I struggle with sketching myself. I find it difficult to truly replicate a scene without using colour. See here, for example. How could you truly capture the beauty of this in shades of black and white?”

Intrigued, Jim stepped closer to the easel to look at the boy’s canvas. He stepped aside, clearly much more at ease with others seeing his work than Jim was. It was clear why: the boy’s painting was stunning. He had managed to capture the way the gentle ripples of the black water caused small breaks in the colours reflecting on the surface, the way the sun beams looked almost like lines of fire shooting across the sky.

“That is” - Jim paused, trying to think of the best word to use - “splendid. Simply marvellous.”

“Thank you,” the boy held out a paint-covered to Jim, who shook it. “I’m Bradford. Bradford Pendleton. My friends call me Brady.”

“Jeremiah Hexley. My friends call me Jim. Everyone calls me Jim, actually, not just my friends.”

“Then I shall also call you Jim, and you shall call me Brady,” said Brady. “Let’s see your work.”

“Oh, no. No, I don’t… I never let anyone see my- I wouldn’t even say it was work, if I’m-”

“There’s not much point in creating art if isn’t going to be seen.”

Jim considered Brady’s words for a moment, before somewhat reluctantly handing him his sketchbook. He rarely permitted anyone to see his drawings, other than occasionally showing the odd sketch to his parents in passing. He had never simply handed his sketchbook to anyone for them to peruse at leisure, even his friend Lysander, a keen artist himself.

Brady flicked through the book, occasionally pausing to look in more detail, before handing it back to Jim. Jim tried his hardest not to show his relief at having his sketchbook back in his possession.

“They are good,” said Brady, nodding sagely. “Very good, in fact. I’m envious. I’ve never been able to sketch like that. How long have you been drawing?”

“Since I was six. Seven, perhaps. I’m not sure. I had an… a flying accident and was bed-bound - almost entirely bed-bound - one summer. My parents bought me some- some sketching pencils to help me to pass… So that I would not be bored by the ordeal.”

“Your parents gave you the materials?” Brady asked, and Jim nodded. Brady raised his eyebrows. “My father despises my paintings. He believes art to be a waste of time.”

“He’s wrong.”

“I know that. But, if anything, his hatred spurs me on, makes me want to be the best I can be.”

Jim was silent for a few moments. He couldn’t imagine not having the constant support of his parents. Even Ethel had it, in spite of her being so troublesome.

“Say, Brady,” Jim said, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “My friend Lysander - Lysander Mercury, you might know him, actually - is interested in art, too. Neither of us are… We aren’t painters, but we could perhaps help you with your sketching, and you could - only if you would like to, of course - teach us to… to paint. Perhaps.”

“Like a movement?”

“Yes, if you… I was thinking a society or club, but-”

“You know what, Jim,” said Brady, looking away from his canvas. “I like your thinking. I like it a lot. Yes. I think an Art Club is just what this school needs. A perfect wast of time, as it were.”

Jim smiled, and sat down in a rock. The light was still shining on the water, and if he didn’t start sketching now, he’d have missed his chance to capture it altogether.

[lifeofkaze]

October Writing Challenge - Day 3

The amazing Bradford belongs the my most wonderful wifey @kc-and-oc and Adelia Selwyn (in mention) to @thatravenpuffwitch

Carolyn sighed in frustration. She had, in fact, done this repeatedly over the course of the last hour and Bradford eyed the blonde beauty poring over the battered pages of Moste Potente Potions with a concerned look. It wasn’t like her to get so worked up over a potion at all.

She flicked two pages backward, and one forward again, and read the instructions for the hundredth time, her lips moving soundlessly as her eyes darted over the tiny writing. Not daring to disturb her concentration, Bradford walked around her and to the other side of the table, so the cauldron with the simmering potion Carolyn had been working on for the last couple of hours was sitting between them.

They had been supposed to take an evening stroll together, but when he hadn’t found Carolyn in the Slytherin Common Room, and her friend Adelia Selwyn had assured him she wasn’t in their dormitory either, Bradford had immediately known where to look for her.

And sure enough, he had found her in the potions dungeon with her head in a book full of recipes that should way surpass her skills at this point in her education. So far, Bradford had yet to see a concoction Carolyn hadn’t mastered, but judging by the deepening frown on her refined features, that might well change today.

He ducked out of the way of the fumes rising from the cauldron, knowing better than to inhale them, and looked at the bubbling liquid.

“I don’t know Caro,” he mumbled and raised his eyebrows. “ You know I would never doubt your judgment, but is it supposed to look like that? I thought Veritaserum was supposed to be clear?”

Carolyn looked up from her book. “Don’t be ridiculous, Brady,” she snapped, “it’s obviously not supposed to look like that.”

“I thought so,” Bradford answered with a serious nod. “And I don’t suppose it should smell burnt either?”

“What are you talking about?” Carolyn replied with a hint of worry in her voice. “It’s not burnt, impossible.”

She left her workstation and hurried around the table as well. She waved the fume away with an impatient gesture of her gloved hand and bowed over her potion. One of her pale golden locks fell out of the elaborate hair clasp on the back of her head and almost touched the milky surface of the potion. Bradford had to fight the urge to reach out and put it back; instead he watched as the curl of it slightly straightened in the steam.

Carolyn straightened up again, her eyes flashing. “It smells perfectly fine,” she declared and her cat-like eyes narrowed as she looked at Bradford. “Why, Master Pendleton, I believe you are trying to fool me.”

Brady chuckled to himself and tried pulling her away from her cauldron; Carolyn let him, but not before giving the potion the next round of required stirs, two and a quarter clockwise, and one and a half counterclockwise.

Bradford could watch her work endlessly, and wished she would finally let him draw that singularly focused expression she had when working on what she loved most. But Carolyn refused to have her work impacted by staying still or trying to look pretty, even for him; as if she could be anything else.

“You need to relax,” Bradford told her gently as he brought his arms around her. “If anyone in this school can brew this potion, it’s you.”

She leaned her head against his chest and turned her head so she could still watch the cauldron. “I need to get this right, and on the first attempt, too,” Carolyn sighed. “Can’t you tell our Potion’s Master doesn’t think I have it in me? How he kept droning on about how it would take the sharp and undivided focus of a man to brew Veritaserum in our last class,” she snorted.

“That old fool doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Carolyn clicked her tongue impatiently. “He would be if he wasn’t so busy mixing Draught of Peace into his tea every morning, and Draught of the Living Dead in the evening. If he had half his senses still together instead of drugging them into oblivion, he’d remember that combining these two can have severe side effects. Although I wasn’t aware ignorance was one of them,” she added with a smirk that was so unique to her Bradford could sketch it from memory.

He looked at her with an amused smile. “How do you know he’s doing that?”

“The ingredients for these two potions are always notoriously understocked. And I know the effects when I see them. He is a fool,” she added with a bitterness that surprised Bradford.

“He definitely is if he doesn’t see a genius when she stands before him,” he said gently, trying to calm Carolyn’s cold anger before it would get hold on her for good. “You are already more brilliant than he could ever hope to be. He’d cut himself on the sharpness of your wit.”

Carolyn chuckled, but it wasn’t her usual slightly reserved laugh. It was a lot warmer and softer, a sound very few people beside Bradford were allowed to hear. “Are you trying to flatter me?”

“I am indeed,” he smiled. He took the lock of her hair which had come undone earlier and carefully tucked it back in its proper place. “Don’t worry so much, your Veritaserum will turn out just as perfectly as all of your potions in the end. And stop frowning,” he added with a laugh that made Carolyn erase the crease between her eyes, “you’re too beautiful when you laugh.”

“Then just imagine how much I will be laughing when I place a bottle of perfect Veritaserum on the desk of that old oaf.”

“I can’t wait,” Bradford grinned, “but first, I must hold you to your promise of a walk. You’ve been sitting in this gloomy dungeon long enough.”

Carolyn stepped out of his arms with a laugh. “I would never be able to concentrate on you as much as you deserve until this is done,” she said with a smirk over her shoulder. “Let me save my potion, and then I’m all yours.”

[the-al-chemist]

DCD on Aspiring Sons please? 💛💛💛

Absolutely!!!! 🧡 Thank you for the ask!

So, first and foremost, writing the Legacy fic is so much fun, not just because it is an original story but because I get to include some of the amazing characters created by some of my favourite people. It’s a celebration of our little community and I love that.

In The Aspiring Sons, we get to celebrate your lovely Selene (and Alan, ofc) and @kc-and-co’s Ivy and Bradford. The first few chapters of The Beginning of a Symphony focus on establishing the main characters and getting them into position to start their main arcs, and this is no exception.

Ivy Anders is (as of a conversation with KC about the physical similarities between her and the twins’ mothers) Jim and Ethel’s cousin. She and Jim have a close relationship - much closer than either of them have with Ethel. The moment with them at the start really highlights this, especially when you compare it to Jim’s interaction with Selene and Ethel moments after.

Selene and Ethel are just pure joy. Every time I insert them into a scene, I start to giggle as I write. They have this great platonic chemistry and as annoying as they are to their peers, they are wonderful to write. They might be silly, but they are by no means stupid, and so I often have them reciting works of literature or creating their own.

The poem they are reading in this chapter is Keats’ “To Autumn” (one of my favourite poems) and the title chapter is a play on words of the line “close bosomed friend of the aspiring sun”. I chose the chapter title before I decided to add Selene and Ethel reading the poem, because I thought the reference was a bit niche.

The aspiring sons in question are Jim and Brady, and their meeting was the key moment I wanted in this chapter. Jim and Brady are not obvious friends. Brady comes from a hyper-privileged but unloving family background, whereas Jim’s family is very down-to-earth, liberal, and close-knit. The only thing they have that binds them is their love of art, and that is so important. Art brings people together, and our little corner of the internet is proof of this.

Jim and Brady’s meeting is important plot-wise, too. In the not-too-distant future, someone is going to disrupt Jim’s relatively peaceful little life, and the Art Club will soon become a source of both comfort and conflict for him. But, that’s a story for another day…