#but Newt takes him under his wing and has him help out in the gardens

[casualmaraudering]

ok but everyone lived au, voldemort & dumbles died in the first war, and somehow every one of the marauders being a hogwarts professor:

the war means losses, of course. Plenty of casualties and trauma, many teachers were either killed or didn't want to teach anymore. McGonagall, new headmistress, had quite a few positions to fill

Remus is approached first, for DADA ofc. He's always wanted to be a teacher, he was a perfect student, well behaved, what more would you need? there was no one else McGonagall would ask

then there's Lily, so passionate about potions, of course she's gonna say yes to teaching it. And, since she was a Slytherin in her student days, McGonagall makes her head of house. Lily is smug about it for months

then, there's the fact that, since McGonagall is the headmistress, she doesn't have that much time to teach transfiguration. There's not anyone that comes to mind who could teach it - but one day Sirius Black casually strolls into her office, and he comes out with a job. She's always had a soft spot for him, he was extremely skilled in her class even if he was a troublemaker. He's made head of Gryffindor and he couldn't be more proud (take that Mrs Black)

throughout the year, Lily finds it hard to teach quite so many kids - there's basics, NEWT and OWL classes, extracurriculars, too much to do, especially that potions are required for many careers, so a lot of students sign up for the classes. She asks McGonagall if there's a chance there could be a second teacher

and so Regulus Black is asked to fill the position of the Potions Master (the second one). He's very withdrawn and introverted, doesn't do well with young kids, so he takes on advanced classes and NEWT prep, and Lily has the basics and OWL prep.

Regulus is the youngest professor in the castle, at just 20. But McGonagall knows just how skilled he is and that, even with the lack of experience, he'll manage just fine.

James is offered a position a few years after all of his friends. The previous Quidditch teacher resigned, and so McGonagall sends a letter asking James if, perhaps, he'd be interested to fill the position. James quits his previous job in an instant

Sirius and Remus are married, of course. None of the students know, because Remus thinks it's best to keep it on the low and not embarrass the children with too much physical affection. The students can easily tell there's something there though. Most 7th years think they're having an affair with each other

the staff wing is,,,, a lot. there's just A Lot going on there at all times

James does Little League Quidditch for smaller kids from nearby magical villages on the weekends (with McGonagall's permission, of course)

if you're looking for Sirius, you'll most likely find him in Remus's office, annoying him (because who needs to mark essays when you can be kissing your husband, right?)

Sirius, just like McGonagall, loves to show off Padfoot to his students. and often he strolls around the castle as Padfoot. it's quite amusing to see a gaggle of students to "hello Professor Black!" at a dog

James sends flowers to Lily's office roughly once a week. they always have a little note attached to them that's like "you looked beautiful today!" "woah you're so gorgeous, will you go out with me??" they're married, but it's cute nevertheless

James coaches all of the teams, and he gets very invested in the lives of his students. He's like the most approachable guy in the staff wing, loves giving advice and trying to cheer his kids up if they happen to have lost a game or have a bad day. If you have a problem you're not sure what to do about, you go to James

Regulus can be spotted in the library very often. He has his own spot where every student knows, that's where Professor Black (the Potions one) sits. He doesn't talk Much with his students but that's just cause he's introverted and doesn't like people that much. but every now and again a student will sit next to him and ask for help with an essay, and he never says no

at least twice a month Sirius will try to persuade Remus to change his surname to Black. the chaos if there were three Professor Blacks?? hello??? Remus isn't amused (actually they both have a double surname but go by just Black and Lupin, so the kids aren't confused and they can remain lowkey)

Remus has a drawer full of treats just in case there's a student coming into his office. whether it's to retake a test, ask for help, or just chat. he always has sweets

Regulus also helps out in the hospital wing sometimes. Prior to working at Hogwarts, he was studying to be a healer, and Madame Pomfrey took him under her wing and teaches him all he needs to know, so he's technically both a potions professor and also a healer

Remus is really good at reading his students, so once he invites a certain student to his office. He talks to them a bit at first, and then offhandedly mentions that he was born a girl - just to see the student's eye go wide and ask if that's possible. for Remus it was really easy to notice that whenever he called them "miss" they'd have this uncomfortable frown on their face, just like he once did. The student ends up coming to him a lot, finally shyly admitting he's not a girl, but a boy - and always leaves a little more happy, more confident. Remus can't be happier when he skips into his office one time and says he's transferring to the boys' dorm

similarly, Sirius once has a student who didn't want to come home for the summer. She was a second year, a gryffindor, and very shyly approached him once, asking if there's something she can do so she doesn't have to go home. He didn't have the answer to that just yet

and so Sirius talked to Regulus. And together they went to McGonagall's office, asking if there's a way to arrange a place for students who don't want to, or can't, go home. They've both been there once - they didn't want to go home, but there was no other way. And so, with a bit of work, and volunteering to watch the kids on their part, they arranged a way for students to stay the summer if their situation isn't perfect

James attaches to students so much that he cries every year at graduation

Lily takes over one of the greenhouses to have a little potions ingredients garden - for stuff that isn't necessarily in the curriculum, but she thinks the students could find useful or interesting. Reg has a small patch in there for healing plants

Sirius's office has a waterbowl for Padfoot and an empty bowl right next to it. sometimes students will leave dog treats there

[illuminating-dragons]

Fading Scars (12/?): Love In Time

Summary:  Some headcanons on the original generation's love stories.

Harry & Ginny

           Harry didn’t cry when Ginny told him she’d been accepted to play for the Hollyhead Harpies, so she’d be travelling a lot. He cried three days later, when he offered to break up with her and she held him for hours, promising that she still loved him.

           It took years to forgive himself for the year of leaving her, all the uncertainty, all the time he hadn’t been in love with her. It took years for her to forgive herself for not realizing how much needless guilt he carried.

           When Harry has bad days, he goes and walks around London for hours and hours, sometimes under the Invisibility Cloak. When he gets home, Ginny makes him tea and nearly smothers him in blankets, even when it’s a hot summer day. She still has that coldness in herself too.

           When Ginny has bad days, she can’t stop herself from crying. Harry doesn’t freeze in front of her tears. Instead, he cuddles her on his lap and rubs her back. When they have children, he lets them play in the same room; he was worried at first, but James and Al and Lily just understand that “Mummy’s blue” and they let her calm down and come back to them at her own pace, and then they all play a rousing game of Hide and Seek.

           Harry was very unaware of his own body before he dated Ginny. He’d never been all that enthused with sex, never found the need to draw his curtains as often as his roommates had (he would always quietly retreat to the common room if he saw anyone with them closed). He was even less aware of girl’s bodies. Ginny taught him how to enjoy sex, and he learned to, but it’s always been more about giving her pleasure. Their sex is hardly ever serious; they laugh, they’re playful, and sometimes it just settles into cuddles and tickles in the middle. Harry’s also made it clear that he’s okay with Ginny enjoying herself without him, although watching her is one of his favourite activities.

           When Harry and Ginny announced their engagement, Molly Weasley whipped up a feast immediately and sent out Patronuses to their entire family. Near the end of the night, Harry came to thank her and Arthur again for giving him permission to ask their daughter to marry him. “It’s like I’m really part of the family now,” he said.

           “You’ve been real since I made you fudge for Christmas,” Arthur replied, and that was the end of that conversation.

           The week before Harry proposed (though Ginny didn’t know it at the time), Ginny went to Godric’s Hollow alone. It was a beautiful summer day, but nothing could quite erase the sadness of the graveyard.      She went over to an old white marble gravestone. There were two newer monuments on either side; one was a tiny dogwood tree with a plaque in front enscribed ‘Snuffles’, and a multicoloured geode on the other, with the initials NT and RL engraved in it.

           Ginny took a deep breath. “Alright. I know that you don’t know me Mr. and Mrs. Potter. And Harry and I weren’t together when you were alive, Sirius. And we were broken up for a lot of time Dora…Remus…but I promise I love your kid. He’s brilliant, and he’s amazing, and he’s so good to me. I’m sure you’re really proud of him wherever you are. I promise I’ll take care of him, and I’ll let him take care of me too. I just wanted to tell you before I asked him.” She felt a bit silly. She knew they were gone, that they’d crossed over. They probably couldn’t hear her.

           But when she stood, she swore she could smell lilies.

Ron & Hermione

           Ron doesn’t write down any notes about their days. Their anniversaries, their big moments, nothing. He’s never been good friends with the written word. Instead he measures them by a special set of hourglasses that pour beads instead of sand, cascading down slowly in their kitchen. He rarely needs them, but they’re pretty, and there’s something truly satisfying about turning them over at the end of a holiday, looking forward to the next.

           Ron used to take his bad days out on Hermione. Hermione took out her bad days on Ron. That stopped before they were married. Now they retreat to the garden, working on it the Muggle way, except for the winter plants Luna brought back for them from Tibet. Sometimes they’re together, sometimes it’s just one, but it always ends with tea and Ron’s biscuits at the kitchen table, because that’s where they get the most sun.

           Crookshanks, of course, lives with them, but when Hugo is five he begs for a puppy. They have the room, and Crookshanks is the one who chooses a small brown puppy who quickly grows into an enormous dog. Chocolate and Crookshanks become fast friends, and when Chocolate finally reaches her full growth Crookshanks sometimes sleeps on her back.

           Sex surprised both of them. For Ron, his only experience was with Lavender, whose passion had been grabby and intense. Hermione had a few quiet moments with Krum, but those were more about holding and being held. When they lie together, it becomes about exploring, finding what works, what doesn’t. They adventure, they explore, they try everything they can. They make love to music, they have sex in the day, and they finally feel comfortable in their own skin and desires.

           When Hermione found out she was pregnant, she was worried. Ron had grown up with a Mum who stayed at home, and Hermione respected that. But it wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to keep working, to keep pushing for rights taken for granted by some and desperately needed by others. So she was relieved when the first thing out of Ron’s mouth (after a cry of joy that brought tears to her eyes) was, “do you mind if I start working part-time? I’d like to be home with them.”

           So they worked out a schedule; after her year of maternity leave, Hermione walked with the children to daycare for the morning, and Ron picked them up at lunch.  

Neville & Hannah

           Neville didn’t date much at Hogwarts. He’d had a brief crush on Ginny Weasley, and another on Ernie MacMillan, but they hadn’t lasted. He’d struggled so much with feeling like anyone would like him. Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopless[1]…he wouldn’t date him.

           But then the war happened, and things like that didn’t seem to matter. With Dumbledore and Harry gone, and Voldemort breathing down their necks through the Carrows and Snape, Neville had no reason to look in the mirror. He had to take care of things, had to save people, had to keep fighting and hoping and refusing to bow.

           And Hannah was there with him, her body bent from curses and grief, her home empty, her eyes haunted. But she was still so kind, so keen to help people stop suffering. She and Neville would stay awake long into the night, supporting the lonely and hurt. Sometimes she would fall asleep with her head in his lap, and he would stroke the tangles out of her hair. Sometimes he would fall asleep on her shoulder, drifting to a quiet lullaby.

           When the Battle was done, Neville went to check on Hannah. “Get some sleep, love,” he said.

           He hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t realized that it was no longer scary to admit that he cared for her. Somehow he’d discovered that he was, in fact, likeable. And she was loveable.

           Hannah smiled back tremulously and took his hand. “I’ll only be able to if you’re there.”

           So Neville conjured some cushions in Greenhouse One and they fell asleep together under the Flutterby bushes.

           Hannah started working at the Leaky Cauldron on Aberforth Dumbledore’s reference [“the girl made my place feel cheerful, she’ll do brilliantly”]. She loved the pub, loved seeing all the new people, and it helped to pay for her tuition at a Muggle university. She’d gotten her NEWTs, she could have easily gone straight to working as a Healer, but magic wasn’t enough. She wanted to understand the body from a Muggle perspective.

           Years later, she would coach Lucy Weasley through Muggle university applications, but for now Neville would sit in on a couple of classes with her and they would have supper at the pub before they went back to their little cottage.

           Hannah and Neville take a while to get around to getting married. It’s a little unusual, but neither see the need. It’s not until Freddie Weasley, Neville’s best student, asks if Madam Hannah would like to be married that Neville realizes he should probably ask. Hannah was agreeable, and they had a quiet wedding with their closest friends. His students give them enough plants to start another garden as gifts.

           They don’t have children of their own. They’re happy in each other, happy to work side by side whatever they do. But just before Neville’s twenty-fifth year of teaching, they meet a student who goes straight to the Hospital Wing first week of class. They adopt Bailey and his nameless infant sister by the Christmas holidays, and they name the baby Mary Alice.

Luna & Rolf

           Luna’s heart was broken long before she was ever old enough to fall in love, and that shapes the way she feels about people leaving. Harry was first pushed to fix the old mirrors when Luna couldn’t travel with Rolf for a month due to a nasty cough, and they used them near constantly.

           Rolf’s mother Nadeen was suspicious of the British witch her son had fallen in love with, naturalist or not. Nadeen was married, after all, to New Scamander’s second son, and knew the gossip about him choosing an Egyptian bride. To her relief, her daughter-in-law doesn’t treat her like an exotic creature, and they get along very well, helped along by a mutual adoration of art and of Rolf. Nadeen weaves them a blanket every Christmas, and Luna sends one of her paintings. They don’t talk about religion, but Luna wears a headscarf when she visits, and joins her in meditation. She never converts (and Rolf himself isn’t practicing), but she respects the depth of Nadeen’s faith in a world where magic is allowed but beliefs in a higher power are frowned upon.

           Luna knew Rolf was the right one by the way he talked about having kids. He said that children were fascinating, and that he wanted to let the children they had lead how he parented. He even offered to take Polyjuice so he could be the one that experienced pregnancy, but Luna was alright with being pregnant.

           Luna developed her way of coping with bad days before she ever met Rolf, so he was a little surprised when she vanished one day without telling him. She returned a few hours later, soaking wet. The next time she goes to dance in the rain, he Apparates with her.

           Luna derives a lot of pleasure from sex, but she doesn’t know how to ask for it as often as she wants it. Rolf is the one who learns to speak her language, and to let her know that she’s allowed to have those desires and he’s more than happy to fulfill them.

George & Angelina

           Angelina didn’t forget about their kiss all those months of the war. But it wasn’t the right time, and she couldn’t bring herself to be there for George as much as she should have. She regrets that at first, but George finally sets her straight. He didn’t want her there during the war. Knowing she was protecting her family and keeping her head down was all he needed to know.

           As much as she loved Quidditch, Angelina doesn’t pursue it the way that Ginny and Oliver did. She thought about being a Healer, but she can’t stand to see people in pain the same way Hannah Abbot can stand it. During the war, she discovers her true passion; childcare. Looking after several Muggleborn refugees at her home translated into a daycare after the war for any children below Hogwarts age. Some of her clients can pay, others can’t, but Angelina adores her work, especially when it lets her spend more time with her own children. She just wishes that George wouldn’t bring so much merchandise when he drops by.

         George and Angelina have an understanding with Katie and Oliver Wood. They’re not always open, but there are definitely nights when the four of them end up in bed together. Besides being incredibly hot, it helps to work out some of the frustration left over from the Quidditch field (Oliver can be persuaded to submit), and heals the cracks where someone is missing. They have their own relationship now.

           When George and Angelina moved in together, there were no mirrors. Angelina coaxed George into buying one, and by the time Freddie is born there are enough reflective surfaces for the baby to be constantly entertained by the other baby in the mirror. George keeps his hair short though, above his ear, just to be sure.

Percy & Audrey

           On his first day at the Ministry after the war, Audrey and Percy bumped into each other at in the elevator. Percy was instantly smitten, to the point that he apologized when Audrey spilled her tea on him.

           Audrey is three years older than Percy. She graduated the year before he became a Prefect, and doesn’t know much about him from school. Percy is profoundly grateful for that.

           Percy enjoys the bondage portion of BDSM (both ways), but he’s unwilling to inflict or receive pain. Audrey can work with that.

           A year after they started dating, Audrey was going through the Department of Magical Law and discovered piles of falsified records of Muggleborns and Order sympathizers. It takes her less than five seconds to recognize Percy’s handwriting from his love letters (one a day on her desk), and five hours to read through each and every one, marvelling at the careful, clever work. Percy had never planned to tell her, and was very surprised when she brought it up. He was even more surprised when she asked him to marry her.

           Any ambition beyond being a good person again vanished from Percy’s mind after the war. He still worked as hard as ever, but he went as far as to avoid promotion. Audrey, a halfblood whose mother had been placed in Azkaban for crossing her Death Eater boss, had even more fire in her blood. She worked to climb the ranks, and Percy felt mostly content to stand by and let her.

           That was, until she ran for Minister for Magic after Kingsley Shacklebolt retired.

           Percy had to gather all his courage to face his quickly rearing insecurities, and he tried to search for why he was so upset. He looked at his daughters, who were both at Hogwarts now, both growing into fine young women who fought to be better than they were.

           And that was the problem. In giving up his ambition, he’d stopped fighting to make himself better.

           By the time Audrey was elected nearly unanimously, Percy had changed jobs. He was back in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and he had big plans to make sure that his wife’s international alliances were the best they could possibly be. In the years to come, he would champion Lucy’s ideas about technology, consulting with witches and wizards all over the globe to create a committee on magic’s interaction with Muggle systems, and how they could smooth out any ‘bugs’(he really hoped Lucy was joking about the computers being full of creepy crawlies. He couldn’t stand them).

           Once he straightened out the filing system. What on earth had they been doing all these years?

Draco & Astoria

           While Draco was still doing community service, he was given just enough to live on. Harry helped him out with extra money, and Draco swallowed his pride, thanked him, and bought Astoria jewelry. She loved sparkly things, and didn’t care whether they were imitation or not. Later in their married life, he was able to afford real rubies, diamonds and sapphires, but her favourite necklace was one with sparkly beads he’d given her on their very first real date.

           Astoria and Draco are in a Dom/Sub relationship. It’s a good thing that Astoria had plenty of experience as a Dom, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to tell the fine line between Draco’s pleasure-centred masochism and his occasional desire to be punished, to hurt, to cleanse his soul of guilt. She doesn’t let him get away with that after his first subdrop; it’s about pleasure and trust. As far as she’s concerned, absolution doesn’t happen in bed.

           Draco was terrified the first time he’d met Astoria’s parents. After all, he was a Death Eater, a Malfoy; her parents must disapprove of him. He continued to be terrified throughout the visit, but not because her parents hated him.

           No, it was because Astoria’s parents were stark raving mad.

           Her father was a simple kind of mental; he’d named every object in the house, but other than that he was a very pleasant man, and confided in Draco that he’d once been attracted to the Death Eater philosophy. “I couldn’t commit,” he said. “I got out before it was too late, but I was lucky. You can get over it, lad. It doesn’t poison your mind forever.”

           Her mother, on the other hand, was a whole other kind. She told outrageous stories that Draco couldn’t help believing, given her level of detail and conviction. When Draco accidentally spilled a few drops of tea on his sleeve, she screamed and tried to call a Healer, worrying that her ‘future son-in-law was going to be scalded for life!’ It took a while to calm her, but Draco couldn’t help feeling pleased about the ‘future son-in-law’ part.

           When they left, Astoria squeezed his hand. ‘They liked you.”

           “I like them,” Draco replied. He paused. “Were any of your mother’s stories true?”

           “A few of them. Trouble is, her memory’s starting to go and we’re not sure which ones are made up anymore. She’s remembering more from when she was young, so the ones when she was a girl are new, but so are the ones from before she met Dad.”

           Draco paused for a moment, content to just walk, worried about asking the question.

           “You can ask, Drake, it’s okay.”

           Draco flushed. “Your mother…”

           “She was born a man,” Astoria confirmed. “She went through a potion regime that gave her the ability to bear children. She carried me and my sister. Was it the height?”

           “No, it was her throat. She still has a bit of an Adam’s apple.” Draco put his arm around her. “I’m happy they liked me. I was a bit worried.”

           “They’d be mad not to. Well, madder.”

           Draco looked at her, astonished.

           Astoria giggled. “I know they’re not sane, Draco. But they’re not hurting anyone, and they know enough to realize when something is too far. They’ll be fine for now.”

           Astoria calls him Drake or Dragon when she’s feeling playful. Draco calls her Tori except when they’re in bed (or he wants to go to bed).  

            When Draco begins to work in the prison system, Astoria follows him. Her magical architecture background is vital to creating a reasonable blueprint (and for creating temporary prison quarters for the prisoners). She also helps Draco go through the files and try to categorize crimes in a new way, to find patterns of redemption and patterns of complete hopelessness. The work is hard on both of them, but they solve that by joining a Muggle singing group. No one knows or cares who Draco is there, and it turns out he loves to sing.

Bill & Fleur

           Fleur knew that Bill was the one when a year had passed and he hadn’t made her Change. Her Veela blood was diluted; she was only a quarter, but it left her with a few instincts. One of them was Changing when a man made her feel insignificant in his life. Fleur never Changed their entire marriage.

           Bill is the only Weasley child who actually remembers the first Wizarding War. He remembers his uncles, his father’s best friend Timothy Bones, even meeting Lily Evans Potter once when she was pregnant and looking at a house in the area for her and her husband. He rushed back to England when the Second one started, and it was only Fleur who really saw how scared he was, and how hard he tried to hide it from his siblings, how much he felt like a child again.

           Everyone thinks that Bill is the luckiest man on earth because he has a beautiful wife. “Part Veela, hm? Lucky boy!”

           Bill does think it’s lucky. He feels lucky that Fleur trusted him with the secret that she was gray-asexual, and that when they do have sex she lets him see how vulnerable she feels, how insecure. He’s grateful for the chance to teach her how much he loves her, how beautiful she truly is, and for the fact she’s willing to bear him children.

           Shell Cottage was a safe house during the war, with exhausted, hurt, broken people coming through when they were home (and sometimes when they were out on missions). When the war ends, they buy incense and open every window during a storm, washing out the old hurts and fears, hoping to have a clean place again. They still build new rooms for their children, just in case. They can bear the strain of memory. Their children shouldn’t have to.

           Bill understands Lou deeply. He’s okay with using ‘he’, but there are certainly days when he doesn’t quite feel like a male. He buys Muggle women’s clothes, not just dresses, and he and Fleur spend some afternoons playing dress-up.        

Dean & Seamus

           They weren’t a couple at Hogwarts, no matter what anyone says. Dean was happy when he was with Ginny Weasley and (very briefly) with Michael Corner, and Seamus was coming to terms with being gay. They didn’t become a couple until the day after the Battle, when they took a walk outside the Hogwarts grounds, down the path to Hogsmeade, hand in hand without thinking.

           When Dean finds out about his father, three weeks before their wedding, he bursts into tears and immediately tells his mother. The idea that a father he’d hated for so long for leaving had been killed trying to protect his family, that he wasn’t a Muggle but a wizard, sent him reeling. Seamus offered to put off their wedding, but Dean refused. When he walks down the aisle, he goes down arm in arm with his mother, and his father’s watch, broken in the Death Eater attack, firmly in his pocket.

           The wizarding world has a mystifying attitude towards gay people. In that no one really cares, but no one really talks about it either. Dean and Seamus have no trouble getting a marriage license, but to their shock they discover that they are still expected by Seamus’ family to acquire a female in order to have kids. Neither of them want kids; instead, they adopt several cats and go to football and Quidditch games together.

           Before he starts training Hogwarts’ football teams, Dean works at a Muggle women’s shelter. When he realizes there are no equivalent institutions for wizards, he starts one. It sounds simple, but there are so many more levels to the problem that he needs help. Luckily, Fleur Delacour and Parvati Patil are happy about the prospect, and they help develop it. When he isn’t coaching, Dean spends his time helping witches change their identities, relocate, lobby for more laws about prosecuting abusers (which has Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy’s attention) and teaching the children who ran with their mothers how to draw, and how to protect themselves from bad people. Seamus is very proud of him, and he brings toys to the shelter from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He also participates in the pickups and drop-offs; he’s learned to control his explosions, and he can channel an Irish temper just as well as his mother.

           Dean is an incorrigible romantic when it comes to sex. Seamus lets him get away with it, because the romance does make him feel needed. He still won’t let Dean bring roses home, though. He has to draw the line somewhere, and he really hates that flower.

           Dean understands, and brings him carnations instead.

Cho & Chris

           The war damn near broke Cho. She gave up on trying to be strong, gave up on being brave. She started to drink and didn’t stop for two straight days. When she woke, to her surprise she was in a room with Viktor Krum. Viktor handed her a Hangover Cure and a Portkey ticket.

           “You need some time,” he said.

           Cho remembered how much Cedric had liked Viktor. She took the ticket.

           She travelled to Florence. Hot and sunny and far away from the Wizarding world, Cho gradually came back to life. She wrote her mother only to tell her yes, she was still alive, learned Italian, and tried gelato from every store in the city until she found her favourite.

           She gained ten pounds, and for the first time in her life she didn’t care.

           On the other hand, when an adorable Canadian student named Chris let her cut in line at the gelato store (“ladies first, please”; she found out later that was his attitude towards orgasms), she did agree to go on a run with him. They ran up a hill outside the city, and Cho was exhausted when they got to the top, but they watched a beautiful sunset together.

           When Chris left, she followed him. They backpacked across Europe together, and when Chris quietly brought up that he wanted to see London, Cho returned with him.

           To her shock, Chris wanted to contact an old friend of his. Dean Thomas.

           Dean was a second cousin through his Mum. Chris knew about the Wizarding World, and wasn’t surprised at all when Cho revealed she was a witch. “I thought you might be. But you didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t.”

           Chris ended up staying in England. He got a visa with the help of the Ministry (Kingsley had an excellent relationship with the Prime Minister), and he and Cho lived in Berkshire. Chris got a job teaching physical education, and when his visa ran out they got married. They spent a lot of time travelling together in the holidays, and Cho ended up starting to film their adventures. Her wand stayed in her pack, but she used it less and less as the years went on.

           Cho stays in touch with Harry, and she tells her daughter Tina about Cedric. Chris would have felt jealous, but he knows his wife loves him now. That’s all he really needs. And he knows that she needs to explain to her daughter (and to herself) how those romances changed her, made her, broke her.

           Cho was taught that sex was for procreation, nothing more. Chris teaches her otherwise, and they run the gamut of sexual experience before they settle on positions, times, toys and safe words. Their daughter isn’t born until five years after their marriage.

           When Tina is little, she has to make a family tree of flags of where she comes from. There isn’t much room for Cho’s Chinese and Welsh flags, Chris’ Canadian, Mi’kmaq[2] and Scottish flags, and finally the England flag, but they do their best.

           Cho and Chris compete against each other, running for fun and for prizes. Chris is strong in triathlons; Cho takes a while to learn how to ride a bike properly. But she leaves him in the dust during marathons, including the one she ran four months pregnant.

[feybucky]

writing prompt: silver, garden, fireflies, warm, gravebone :3

:3 Have some tooth-rotting Gravebone fluff with a touch of feels. But mostly fluff~!

—–

Dusk darkens the pink glowing sky to a deep purple. The No-Majs have long since departed, and a quiet calm has fallen over the gardens, one that is briefly disrupting by the faintest of cracks when Credence and Percival suddenly appear.

Credence’s curious eyes take in their surroundings, but even in the darkness of the evening, he recognizes the Conservatory Garden of Central Park. This is not his first time here, but every other occasion came with the bustle of crowds, so he had to focus his energy on making himself small and unimposing, too preoccupied to really give his attention to the scenery. Now the garden is empty, and his gaze takes its time drifting over the landscape.

Percival checks his corners in the way he always does, even after all this time, then murmurs under his breath while flicking his wand. Credence recognizes it as a No-Maj repelling charm, to ward off any stray patrolmen, he imagines.

Slipping his wand away, Percival takes Credence’s hand. Credence holds on, letting his older lover lead him off, eyes still wandering about their surroundings as he trusts Percival to look ahead for them. “Why here?” Credence asks.

“I thought the change of scenery might help.” Percival glances back. “Casting it the first time can be very challenging, but after that, it comes naturally.”

Credence’s eyes linger on a vast patch of flowers. Percival, ever aware of his surroundings, takes that as his cue to stop. Even without the light of day to highlight them, the careful arrangements are a sight to behold.

Little specks of light suddenly illuminate sporadically across the petals, bringing out the color the evening might have otherwise concealed, and Credence’s lips purse in surprise. It starts as a few, then more, then all across. He looks to Percival as though he expects him to be holding his wand and casting something, but Percival’s hands are unoccupied, save for the one in his own delicate grip. As though he can read Credence’s mind, a grin quirks on Percival’s face as their eyes meet and his shoulders raise an inch.

Credence’s curious gaze returns to the shimmering flower patch, and slowly the dots of lights start to drift up into the air, moving about languidly. Fireflies, Credence realizes. Not magic at all. Or perhaps, magic of a different kind, he thinks. He can feel the nerves he’d kept in his shoulders unwind and the worries jumbled in the back of his mind quiet down. In the moment, he can actually forget he’s standing in the middle of a city so busy.

“It’s perfect,” Credence breathes, looking over at Percival, who responds with a smile.

“Did you want to try here?” he asks.

Credence glances down at his jacket, aware of his wand tucked in the inner breast pocket, though he does not reach for it. His attention shifts back to Percival, and he idly nibbles at the inside of his lower lip. “No one will see?”

“No one will see,” Percival calmly confirms. “All unwelcome eyes are warded away.”

Credence nods, casting his gaze back to the fireflies rather than immediately going for his wand. The longer he watches them float lazily through the air, the more the stiffness in his muscles let go. He feels like he could easily stand here and watch them all night.

That’s not why they’re here though, Credence reminds himself, and he lets go of Percival’s hand to reach into his jacket to take out his wand. Turning away from the glittering insects, he lifts his wand, though he holds it with a bent arm and keeps his head slightly inclined. Percival steps up next to him, touching his elbow to try to get Credence to straighten his arm, though a hint of a bend stubbornly remains.

“Now,” Percival says. “Think of your most happiest memory.”

This is where Credence always struggles. He has acquired plenty of happy memories over the past few years, but which one among them was the happiest? Were any of them happy enough? As he tries to recall and consider, Credence finds his heartbeat speeding up. His mind races with a of several different recollections, but they collide and overlap into one big hazy, incomprehensible mass.

He remembers the first time Newt let him feed the Mooncalves and decides to go with that.

“Eh– Expecto Patronum,” Credence mumbles, and a silver wisp emits from his wand before disappearing.

Credence’s head slumps further, and he lowers his wand, holding the length of it in two hands, the dark wood a stark contrast to the tense fair knuckles gripping it. It’s not this place. It’s him. “I… I don’t think I can do this one.”

“Nonsense, darling.” Percival steps up next to Credence, taking a light hold of his shoulder, the other hand lowering to cover the back of one of Credence’s. Against the cool evening air, Percival emits warmth. It’s easy to gravitate toward him. “I’ve seen you do incredible things. You’re a very strong wizard.”

Credence slowly nods, but the doubts still linger. There is a difference between being a strong wizard and being a skilled one. A difference between brute force and controlled finesse. Credence knows all too well. “But what if I can’t?”

His lips press together into a line as he tries to find the words for his worry. The Patronus Charm is born of happiness into an entity of light, and Credence… well. He looks down at his chest. The darkness may have been successfully extracted from him, but the impression it made will always remain. “What if I an incapable–”

“You are capable,” Percival reassures him in a firm whisper, in that way that is unyielding, unable to be overwhelmed with the anxieties that frequently overwhelm Credence. “You possess the ability. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Percival’s touch curls around Credence’s wand hand, and he guides his arm back up, extending it more confidently. “Focus on me, darling.”

Credence vaguely nods. Reaching around with his other arm, Percival presses against the front of Credence’s shoulder, and Credence brings them both back. Holding his head up and keeping poised is still an unfamiliar sensation to Credence, but with his older lover supporting him, it comes to him more easily. Percival Graves is like a rock. His rock.

“Now relax,” Percival continues. “Take a slow breath.” Credence does. “It’s just you and me here tonight. Only you and me.”

Credence nods a little more assuredly. The gentle flow of fireflies gliding over the flora reflects the calm that drapes over Credence. No one can see them. No one can bother them. It’s only him and Percival, and Percival is sturdy and warm against him. On his next out breath, Credence leans back into him ever so slightly.

Percival adjusts his hand over Credence’s without letting go, his arm straight and steady. “Don’t worry about which memory,” he says. “Focus on what you feel. Think about what you cherish. What will be with you forever.”

Credence thinks about the warm feeling in his chest right now, that feeling that Percival always effortlessly evokes. He thinks about the first time he saw him after Newt removed the Obscurus, how his eyes were warm and genuine, unlike the hard predatory gaze of Grindelwald. He thinks of when he first saw Modesty and how he expected that fear they had parted with to still be imprinted on her expression, but instead her face just lit up. He thinks of Tina and Queenie sharing treats with him and laughing, and the blonde hugging him and telling him they were his family now.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Silver swells from the end of his wand, but rather than a translucent wisp, it is radiant and whole. The glow expands and takes shape, wings breaking from the structure–fingers splaying with shimmering leathery webbing. The silver bat cuts through the air, solid, complete, and unbending.

Credence’s eyes widen in a stunned disbelief, locked onto the creature that sprung to life from his own wand as though it might be an elaborate hallucination. However, after a moment, the sight of it obscures from the tears that well up from his lower lids. A startled chuckle chokes from his lips.

“That’s my boy,” Percival murmurs affectionately into his ear, he line of his nose brushing across the edge of Credence’s ear.

Credence hums, smiling and turning his head, nudging Percival’s cheek with the tip of his nose before pressing a kiss to it. “Thank you.”

Percival grins, his hands drawing back so that he can turn and face Credence properly. “For what, darling?” His arms wrap around Credence’s waist. “You’re the one that did it. I knew you could.”

Credence wraps his arms around the back of Percival’s neck. “Exactly.” He holds on tight, and Percival’s embrace squeezes, lifting Credence’s feet right off the ground when their lips come together. Credence giggles into the kiss, kicking up his heels behind him as his older lover twirls them around.

The fireflies drift all around them, unseen, and the Patronus bat circles overhead, glowing brightly, until finally flickering away.

[podmore]

running from us

(part 1) | (ao3)

The first night back in Grimmauld Place, Harry sleeps like the dead. He sees them, too.

The next morning, he does not wake screaming, nor the next, nor the next. War imbues many habits in its soldiers, and silence is an imperative. Ron and Hermione are already sitting at the old kitchen table when he goes down, eyes rimmed with red, violet circles below. He pours them all tea and traces his fingers over the scar in the wood where a chopping knife had once been.

They move in circles around one another, waiting with bated breath for—something, Harry supposes. The three of them know each other inside out, and he knows without asking that they are just as lost, just as adrift in the absence of the anchor of the certainty of violence. None of them expected to make it this far.

Of course, Hermione is the first to crack. She never could live without a plan, and Harry’s honestly surprised it took this long for one of them to snap. He still cries quietly when he sees the snips of curly hair in the bin, and again when his hair grows back overnight and hers doesn’t. When he sees her smile for the first time in weeks over a book Luna owls her, though, something falls back into place. He catches Ron’s eye over her head, exchanging weary looks that send a shock through his veins. Some things, at least, will never change.

Ginny writes him the next day. It is the first letter she has sent him since Fred’s funeral. In his mind’s eye, he sees her standing next to Ron, resplendent in black, eyes dry and blank. An hour later, he fishes the balled-up parchment out of the wastebasket and composes a short reply. He cannot be so cruel as to leave her unanswered after months of not knowing whether the other still lived any more than he can think about seeing her again. Her reply is sharp, and she speaks to him afterwards in thinly-veiled jabs through her letters to Ron, who only winces.

Harry thinks it is better this way, really. Maybe one day they will begin to heal, when he can look at her and not see his dead mum and a grief-stricken little sister in one, and she can look at him past the heroic tales of her youth and the dark eyes of a handsome boy with a dangerous smile. Maybe one day he can stop flinching when Kreacher drops something while cleaning the attic.

Ron sits in an armchair by the fire in the parlor, staring into the flames through the bottom of a glass of whiskey. Harry wonders if he sees fireworks tossed off brooms, or flashes of light passing over their heads, or a chimera made of fire and rage. Perhaps he sees nothing at all.

Hermione pours the last of the Firewhiskey down the sink, and it’s the first proper row Harry has seen between her and Ron since they stopped dancing around each other. By the end of it, they refuse to even speak until Harry firmly puts his foot down and locks them in a musty study to talk things out. Ron swears to stop drinking to forget, Hermione sends in her applications to university so she’ll stop breaking down over it, and Harry decides to erase from his mind the sight of their mussed hair and disarrayed clothing once they emerged.

Kingsley writes him just once. Harry tells the provisional Minister for Magic in no uncertain terms exactly where he can put his exemptions for Auror qualifications. He’s been up to his ears in preferential treatment and fighting for his life for years and is heartily sick of both. As he rocks Teddy to sleep at Andromeda’s, he thinks his father figures would have approved. Sirius, at least, had always been the largest proponent of sticking it to the man. He has to go sit for a while in a dark room after Teddy finally nods off to calm the pounding of his heart and the clamminess of his palms at the reminder of a mocking smile falling backwards and arms like bands of iron around his chest.

He emerges to sunlight and uncharacteristic heat and the glittering splendor that is Diagon Alley putting on its best face while still rebuilding. The spirit of hope is alive in the air and the faces of shopkeepers and schoolchildren alike, and Harry dares to let himself feel for a moment before he is mobbed by reporters and well-wishers and fame-seekers and people shaking his hand, touching his hair, chanting thanks. As he staggers on the front porch of Number Twelve, he recalls the jagged scar on Ron’s shoulder and sends up fervent thanks to anyone who might care to actually listen to him anymore that he didn’t Splinch off anything he really needed. He doesn’t return to Diagon without the Invisibility Cloak or glamours for a very long time.

Luna takes his hand under the Dirigible Plum bush and leads him up the stairs in a house that somehow looks even more architecturally unsound than when it was blown apart from the inside. Once they reach her room, she hands him a paintbrush and points him to a corner of her room she hasn’t gotten to yet. Under the watchful painted eyes of his closest friends, he doesn’t think. Later, Luna touches his unscarred hand gently to snap him out of his reverie and smiles at his wobbly picture of a skeletal winged horse. The next time he goes back, there is an entire forest in greens and grey in that corner, and two figures holding out their hands to the Thestral, one with an unruly black mane and the other with tangled blond curls.

He sees Neville, head bent over clasped hands, sitting on the old porch swing his father built for his mother. Even bowed over the crushing weight of his grandmother’s death a mere month after the Battle of Hogwarts, as they’re calling it in the papers still, Harry thinks Neville has more steel in his spine than any of the other survivors. Quietly, Neville confesses that he’s been considering taking Pomona Sprout’s offer of an apprenticeship in Herbology. Harry sits and wraps his arm around broad shoulders and tells Neville he’ll be brilliant. Neither of them mention the real and imagined ghosts he’ll have to pass every day to get to the greenhouses, or the way Neville squeezed the stem of the rose he held hard enough for blood to seep from between his palms.

Minerva McGonagall is old. Harry stares at her before remembering himself, shaken by this realization as she rounds the Headmistress’ Desk to embrace him. The tartan-wrapped witch bids him sit and offers him a biscuit and a job. Mind full of silver-white animals flowing around delighted schoolchildren and the grim look on those same children’s faces as they sent blasting curses at mechanical dummies, a refusal is on his tongue before it is halted by the lines by his former professor’s eyes as she tells him to take his time. Defense Against the Dark Arts will always be there for him, provided he takes his NEWTs.

Hermione throws herself fully into helping Harry prepare to sit for his exams. She needles him to return to Hogwarts for the eighth year being offered to students of the war, but he flat-out refuses. Maybe one day he’ll be ready to listen to McGonagall and return to Hogwarts, but given the panic attack (according to Hermione) he had once he left her office at the sight of a scorch mark on weathered stone, that time is a long way off. He takes his NEWTs in a cramped Ministry room with eight others who stare holes into the back of his head half the time, and counts himself lucky that he didn’t fail anything. He might not have the marks required for the Aurors, but he doesn’t need an O in Potions to sit in the grass by Luna as she tells him about the creatures in his head.

On one of his cloaked excursions to Diagon Alley, he stops off at Ollivander’s on a whim. The bell above the door tinkles as he enters, but the shop is otherwise silent and still. Heaving a sigh of relief, Harry tugs the Cloak off and turns to face a visibly startled Draco Malfoy. Harry can do nothing but stare, the old insults dragged down by memories of ash and smoke and exhaustion. After an eternity of silence in which they both manage not to kill each other, Harry extends a hand.

Over greasy chips from a Muggle pub just outside the Alley, Malfoy tells him about his apprenticeship under the old wandmaker, started from a simple apology without expectation of forgiveness. At first Harry wonders, but then he recalls the gaunt boy who repaired the magic in a broken Vanishing Cabinet amidst the brutal occupation of his ancestral home and the looming specter of an impossible task, and he is not surprised at all. Ollivander always did give the sense of looking right through you, and it’s not hard to imagine what he might have seen in a prideful young man willing to abase himself with no expectation of relief.

He does not stop seeing Malfoy, and eventually Malfoy becomes Draco. It does not stop the mob from seeing the Dark Mark on the other boy’s arm. When he receives the news of the “vigilante justice” done in broad daylight on Wizarding Britain’s busiest street, he does not emerge from his room for days until Hermione and Ron drag him out by force and listen to the whole story choked out between sobs. They all sleep together again that night, curled into one another on the couch for the only comfort they know. Hermione throws herself back into her Magical Law classes, and Ron takes time off from helping George at the joke shop to take Harry to see a Chudley Cannons match. They scream themselves hoarse for the losing team, and Harry does not cry when a slender blond man catches the snitch, his face alight with victory.

Harry writes a painful, stilted letter of condolence to Narcissa Malfoy. The response he gets is formal, but warmer than he thinks he deserves. The parchment smells faintly of lilies. He writes back. So does she.

He shows up on Luna’s doorstep in spring. The marigolds in the garden are blooming, and she steps out of the house holding a suitcase stuffed with notes and specimen jars, bottlecap necklace looped around her neck. She smiles and holds out her hand.

After a heartbeat and an eon, Harry takes it. Together they step into the unknown.