#matilda: pureblood probability

[mageathenaeum-hl]

Let Me Be the One to Save You

Summary: Garreth reflects on a year having past since he'd met the Hero of Hogwarts, and struggles with his ever developing feelings. He goes out foraging one morning, unaware of just how indispensable his existence is about to become for MC.

Rating: T Status: unfinished/draft Word count: 5677

Tags: unnamed MC, POC MC, seemingly unrequited love, pining, jealousy, blood and injuries

Happy Weasley Wednesday! ❤️

Garreth really tried not to think about her. Not about her long, lush curls of ebony hair which bounced when she walked, light and springy like weightless cotton, reaching all the way down to her hips. Not about her chocolate coloured, smooth skin, nor piercing russet eyes that seemed to burn constantly with an intimate fire whenever she would look at him. 

Not about the way the twilight that was her general appearance, the epitome of a night sky absent of stars, paired so well with the Gryffindor reds and goldens she always wore, making her the very image of fiendfyre and coal, of power and vigour. 

He had no right to allow his eyes to wander to her in class, covertly tracing her figure below her robes, or his ears to tune into the pleasant melody of her voice when she would speak with her friends in the common room, muting all other background murmur, and lulling him in an odd, sleepy trance. 

Just because she had helped him once or twice with gathering his ingredients. 

Just because she had never said a word of dismissal of himself, or his ideas, thus opening up an entirely private floodgate of deeply buried insecurities, and baseless hopes for acceptance. 

Just because she was the only one to encourage his potion making, and endeavoured to brainstorm with him on his recipes on occasion, despite not being of much help, even going as far as to consult with some of her Ravenclaw friends, and Professor Sharp and Madam Scribner both for resources. 

A scarce few episodes of receiving a miniscule amount of unassuming kindness could not be all it took for him. Seriously. 

Why the faculty found her more agreeable than himself, even though he always tried to be friendly and amiable, he could guess, but it vexed him regardless of the reasons. It vexed him that she succeeded where he failed, always. Even his aunt Matilda seemed to like her more than him, her own nephew. (Granted, one of many, but still.) 

She was a beast on a broom, both in class and on the Quidditch field. A master duelist too, the likes of which not even Sebastian Sallow had a chance of beating. The pride of Gryffindor House, that one. 

Speaking of Sebastian Sallow. He was often with her, and so was his closest chaperone, Ominis of the infamously prestigious House of Gaunt. Garreth did not know the two well; just as classmates at best. They had barely exchanged a few sentences between themselves over the years. 

Sallow and Gaunt appeared to Garreth sometimes like her footmen, other times like her bodyguards, though he highly doubted she had needed any, probably ever. At yet other times, the three seemed close-knit friends, bonded in spite of the intensive house rivalry and other obvious societal differences within a relationship built on mutually private secrets and inside jokes. 

Others flocked around her too, almost like wasps around a glass of sherbet, hoping for a taste of the sugary drink that was her good favour. There would have been more of them no doubt, had she been pureblood and pale as well, on top of her heroism, charisma, and the fame she had garnered during her first year at Hogwarts (ironically as a fifth year student). Her connections and strength alone lured purists like Duncan Hobhouse and Malfoy to at least take a passing interest, if nothing else then out of sheer curiosity. 

The sweetest flytrap, that one. 

The sheer volume of male company in particular got a little less the closer she had grown to Sallow, however, and this too vexed Garreth, almost equally as much. It irritated him that he had evidently been grouped with the others, even though he was sure he was not on their level. 

He was not as vile and superficial as many of them had been, nor did he behave as such. No, what he felt for her was more on the level of admiration, or adoration, patterned with envy – sentiments the likes of which would fit in a book similar to that of Rumi’s poetry. 

If he allowed himself to write poetry, or if he had even been any good at it. 

So, Garreth tried not to think about her. Not during the school year, and not during the summer. Not to write about her in his diary, and not to strike through any and all paragraphs of his reminiscence on her when it happened to flow out of his half-aware quill. Not to allow daydreams to encroach on his homework and his brewing, or keep him distracted from his reading, or quality time with his friends and family. 

Year Six, Semester One, a week before Halloween 

Hector told him he had been acting strange recently. Leander informed him, somewhat guardedly, that he had been oddly irritable, and asked him what had been wrong that morning during breakfast. Natsai observed him, ever since they had crossed paths in the common room earlier, with an odd sparkle in her dark eyes that seemed full of curiosity she dared not openly voice, rather opting to lie in wait for the perfect opportunity. 

He needed to get away from everyone for a while, Garreth realised with a sigh. 

She was not present at breakfast. Neither was Sallow, he noticed, despite himself. 

But Garreth did not think about it. Did not dwell on it. Not at all. 

With an empty smile and an equally empty excuse of going foraging presented to his friends and brother, he exited the Grand Hall through the closest door which led outside, and summoned his broom as soon as he was under the clear sky. 

Once mounted and off the ground, his lungs quickly filled with fresh autumn air. Scents of wet grass and leaves mixed with those of morning dew and gusts of Skiron as landscapes zipped past and below him. 

He cruised above the South Hogwarts region for a while, in the end deciding to make good of his excuse. Leaning to his dominant left, he let himself hang upside down for a while, eyes closed as he allowed his broom to sail on the air currents, taking him in any direction the wind and his mount agreed on. 

His brew of the day will depend on whatever he will end up harvesting, he supposed. 

It was cold. Not all too unpleasant. Nonetheless, he could have at least brought some gloves with him, his fingers were turning rigid. 

He exhaled. He was sure his breath was a visible steam of white, judging by the subtle wave of warmth hitting his face amid all the cool wind. 

Garreth opened his eyes slowly, at the same time reigning in his broom to fly at a slower pace. The first thing he saw was a vast expanse of murky, navy water under equally as vast a sky, considerably cloudier than what it had been when he had departed. 

He flinched when he felt something brush against the tips of his locks, quickly gathering that his hair had been hovering inches above the highest canopies of a small assortment of deciduous trees – had it caught and matted into the branches, that would have been one very abrupt and painful stop he would have made there. 

There’s one for my diary, he managed a quick half-joke with himself. 

Hastily, Garreth pulled himself up into the correct riding position, further decelerating, and lowering altitude toward an elevated clearance. He dismounted on top of a stone slab reminiscent of a picnic table of sorts. 

“Best be careful,” he noted to himself as he inhaled purposefully deeper and slower, to adjust his breath post flying. He had no idea where he had ended up. 

The landscape behind him, opposite the coastline he had initially seen, was mostly that of thin woodlands, plowable fields and gentle hillsides; man-made stone structures resembling castles could be observed further in the distance. An intense scent of saltwater lingered in his nostrils almost immediately after he had dismounted. 

Somewhere close to the sea, he concluded dumbly after a second, properly refocused on the present at the expense of Hogwarts life and that other, painful topic of human companionship or whatever, as he made his first step off the stone table, and into the picturesque nature about. 

The immediate environment was abound with bushes of Lacewing Flies and bundles of Leaping Toadstool Caps, a wild Dark Mongrel lurking among the trees here and there. (The first one had surprised him, but he was ready for the others with properly erected Protegos and subsequent Stunners.) 

Eventually, rather than go further inland, Garreth descended down a narrow, swirling path toward the beach. A decision he soon found himself almost regretting, when he stopped to consider how much colder it had been to be exposed to the open, merciless coastline wind at the tail of October. 

But fortunately, fate favours the brave. Either them, or ones of equal lack of common sense and presence of luck. And Garreth certainly got lucky, as among the many leeches to be juiced and shells to be collected and ground into fine powders later, he had stumbled on a washed up carcass of an incredibly evasive sea creature – the hippocampus. 

One in relatively good condition too. 

As sorry as he was for the beast in the moment, even taking some time to pay it its due respects and thank the gods for the unexpectedly bountiful autumnal harvest, Garreth soon enough busied himself casting Diffindo to collect on some of the hippocampus skin, flesh, and other useable parts, hurriedly storing them in conjured vials, which he deposited in his robes, the pockets of which he had had a friend magically extend before. (All illegal things Auntie Matilda had warned him were strictly forbidden outside of Hogwarts, but what she did not know could hardly hurt her, he was sure.) 

In his elated busywork, Garreth had completely forgotten both the cold, and all his troubles. He had likewise forgotten to mind his surroundings, right up until the moment someone shouted his name, breaking his focus. 

He lifted his gaze off the hippocampus carcass just in time to notice an enormous dugbog sprinting right at him, its muscley tongue dangling out of its boulder-sized maw, red eyes aglow with part killing instinct, and part sadistic joy upon the prospect of a shortly incoming feast consisting of both himself and the mountain of meat behind him. 

He was given no time to react. He had given himself no such time. 

In the next moment, the dugbog was promptly hit with a purplish white burst of magic from somewhere to Garreth’s left, the force of which sent the foul creature flying into the sea off the coast. Following the remaining gleam of the fired spell with his eyes, Garreth was immediately holding his breath anew, as he perceived the figure of the person who had saved him, and who had also shouted his name before that. 

Fiendfyre and coal. 

“You are mad, Garreth Weasley!” she bellowed as she approached in a sprint. “What on earth do you think you are doing?!” 

He had no words to respond with. His thoughts were a mess in an instant. Emotions, so bloody many of them, were stuck in his throat, threatening to spill over. He was frozen, he was boiling, he wanted to ascend, he wanted to fall into a hole, all at once. 

Did his fate favour him, or did it absolutely loathe him, he was all but sure anymore. He wished for her to have left him to die, and did not, all the same. 

“Why are you all the way out here, in Feldcroft?!” his night without stars demanded to know, exasperated with something Garreth wanted to, but dared not define as worry in her features. 

Here had been Feldcroft, after all, as she had just informed him. The home of the one and only Sebastian Sallow, he happened to know. 

And the two of them both, at the same time, had not been at breakfast that morning. The realisation seemed to sear itself into his nerves, burning white. 

“What’s it to you?” Frayed, weak words came out of Garreth’s mouth, bitter and foreign on his tongue. 

She blinked at him, unsure how to proceed in the moment. “We’re friends?!” was the reply, spoken in shaken confidence, the end of the sentence curving into a question. 

“Yes, well,” Garreth scoffed, licking his lips nervously and looking away from her, (anywhere but at her really,) “not so close friends I’m sure.” 

“Garreth!” she chided offendedly. “Listen to yourself!” 

“If you’re going to lecture me like everyone else, you are very welcome to just leave me alone.” His tone was more frigid than the late October wind blowing between them. And yet, his heart thundered, ablaze, breaking apart with every thrum. “I am grateful to you for your intervention just now, but you truly need not concern yourself with me anymore. Especially go out of your way to do so.” 

“Garreth…!” she sputtered, significantly quieter this time. From the corner of his eye, his gaze being in the moment coined to the sand in which both of their boots had been half-buried, Garreth could perceive her repeatedly clench and release her fist at her hip. 

He liked her – he admitted to himself then, for the first time in over a year he had known her. He liked her very much. But she was Sallow’s. To her, he, Garreth, had been nothing more than a friend. At best. 

“Have I done something?” he heard her whisper. The quiver in her tone lured his eyes upwards. He stopped their advance somewhere at her collarbones, hidden underneath a thick tartan scarf. A desire to gut himself open as painfully as possible overcame him when a portion of his mind, somewhere deeper, took notice of the lovely ways in which her current, tightly fitting travel attire pronounced the lush hourglass shape of her figure. 

He had no right. None at all. 

“If I’ve done something to earn your scorn, I’ll do anything…” Her breathing turned somewhat erratic; she was making long breaks, and inhaling shallowly. She fidgeted with her hands, wand dancing between her palms, and shifted her weight several times over the span of a couple short moments. 

She was panicking. But Garreth found himself only further irritated by it – if she had already secured the handsome and charismatic Sallow and the intelligent and influential Gaunt, what worth could his own friendship possibly hold for her? 

Because he was a Weasley? One of her many prosperous connections? What was the advantage to him over any of the other Wesleys, like his aunt, or his successful older brothers? Was he but a contingency in case her pureblood Slytherin friends ever decided to discard her? 

He knew he was horrible to even think of it. He was being terrible to her, unfair to her friends, whom he did not even know, outside of being casual acquaintances. But his mind was screaming at him to find something to hate about her, anything, no matter how small, to help him not crumble into dust right then and there and never recover himself. 

A shadow of a movement behind her sent all alarms in Garreth instantaneously going off. He was so stupid – utterly idiotic, to throw a tantrum and pout in a place crawling with danger, without first making sure they– she, was safe! 

Before he even knew what he was doing, he grabbed her wrist and pulled hard, throwing her, and himself protectively over her, opposite the water’s edge. 

The dugbog’s thick tongue darted right above their heads as they landed in the sand. A second of hesitation longer and their heads would have been lopped clean off, without a doubt rolling away on the shore by now. The ground rumbled as the beast started running, its cover blown and discarded. 

With a laborious cry of frustration and pent up anger, Garreth’s companion threw him off, straightening herself in an instant, and proceeding to blast the creature with a burst of pure white magic, the likes of which Garreth had never seen before. 

“I’m trying…” she grunted, hitting the creature with another pearl-coloured nonverbal spell, which this time took form of lightning, “...to have…” she levitated a stone from nearby without so much as a word of incantation, and seemingly almost no effort, “...a bloody conversation!!” 

The stone launched the dugbog backward a good two metres or so, flipping it over to its back, and splintering into pebbles in the process. 

Power and vigour. 

Garreth swallowed thickly, unsure if whatever it was that was twittering in his nerves was terror, or adoration his heart had secretly been whispering about in his subconscious for a year. He raised his own wand with an unsteady hand, but determined to aid the girl all of his affection was focused on in her fight, as he immediately took note of her now laboured breathing. 

Without question or hesitation, he steadied her with one arm, leaning her against his side just as she lost balance. A new pair of glowing red eyes emerged from the water right behind the first squirming giant. 

Garreth aimed a Depulso at the flipped dugbog, launching it back into the sea and into the other one. 

“More are coming, and you’re exhausted,” he said, internally hating himself for not having the presence of mind to register it before. “We’re retreating. Accio broom!” 

Grabbing the speeding mount mid-air with his wand hand, he quickly climbed on, scooping his companion up and positioning her securely in front of himself, then promptly taking off, leaving a dusty vortex of sand and gust in his wake – and just as good, as it was sure to disrupt the aim of the blasted creatures below. 

For the most part, his companion was steady before him, but something still seemed off about her; maybe the way her muscles were unnaturally tensing under his arms, or the way she refused to look at him, choosing to instead lock her gaze on the expanse of land directly below them as they darted over the woodlands. 

The headwind carried over the scent of her hair as its many cheerful, soft little locks beat at Garreth’s cheeks – fast-fading rose oil, and plenty of fresh pine, with hints of other flowery fragrances. 

Almost not sweet at all, and certainly nothing close to sherbet. 

Garreth swallowed thickly, gaining altitude and slowing down. He quietly set course for Hogwarts, preparing mentally for a tedious flight, as almost the entirety of it would be upwind, not to mention the extra weight of another person. 

“Land in Feldcroft, please,” his companion requested then, quiet but firm. 

Any protests that infested his mind, Garreth chose to keep to himself. His mouth was pressed in a firm, silenced line as his eyes busied with searching for the outskirts of a village he knew Feldcroft to be. 

It was not too difficult to find. He grounded the broom in the vicinity of the village well, more carefully than he normally would have had he been alone, thereby ignoring the fact that his companion had probably been a better flyer than himself in favour of basic, gentlemanly courtesy. 

And it was a good thing that he did, as apparently, she was presently not feeling like herself. The moment her feet touched the soft soil below, she stumbled to the side. Unprepared, Garreth barely managed to catch her. 

“You’re unwell,” he pointed out. His voice chose not to mask any of the worry that had clutched his heart at the sight, quite against his will. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she breathed, waving her hand dismissively. “I just need some rest.” 

“Let’s get you a bed. Where are you staying? With Sallow?” Garreth’s eyebrows knitted inadvertently as he posed the question. He banished the mental image. 

“Nowhere,” she answered, breathing deeper now, and clutching at Garreth’s hand that had somehow found its way to hers, to offer support. “I’m looking for him, actually.” 

“He’s not home?” Garreth queried, somewhat surprised, but otherwise not all too interested. 

“Nor Hogwarts,” she responded. “Ominis says he hasn’t been to the dorm at all since last night, or any other of the usual places. Sent me a rather panicked Patronus in the middle of the night, asking if Sebastian had been with me.” 

Garreth banished another mental image. 

She grunted then, like one does when they are in pain, and he held her tighter, lowering her to sit on the ground, her back to the stone well. He squatted close to her, still holding her hand. 

“Have you been out all night searching for him?” he asked, disturbed to no small extent. Even if they had been lovers, that would have surely been uncalled for. Sallow also was a skilled enough duelist not to need her protection or anything. He was no child. 

(Unlike himself, clearly, his brain supplied unhelpfully.) 

She chuckled through a frown. “He has a penchant for trouble if left alone, that petulant child,” she joked. 

At least, Garreth sincerely hoped it had been a joke. 

His next question was posed carefully, laced with all the frost of the sudden realisation that washed over him when he finally noticed, being now as close as he was to her, that some of her attire had been a deeper shade of red than the rest. Particularly around the left of her abdomen, and on her sleeves. 

“Are you injured?” 

She hesitated. “A little.” She attempted an expression which only vaguely resembled a reassuring smile. “Ran out of Wiggenweld in the troll den. Got hit by something nasty by a Dark wizard on my way to the shore. But I handled him.” She sighed deeply. “Episkey won’t mend it.” 

“You’ve been running around with an open wound?!” Garreth almost shouted, growing instantly perplexed, and starting to panic. “For how long?” 

She pouted, not responding immediately. It was all the answer he had needed. Too long. 

At that moment, a voice of a middle-aged woman sounded from the side of them: “Excuse me young man, but is everything alright? I saw you two land…” 

“No, it’s not, thank you,” Garreth turned to the woman instantly, purposefully ignoring the look of ‘Do not involve others, I’ll handle it’ his companion was giving him. “Madam, do you have any Wiggenweld and Blood Replenishing Potions? Or somewhere I could brew them right now?” 

“Oh dear,” the woman straightened with evident urgency, the likes of which seemed to infect her immediately through whatever the expression in Garreth’s eyes was. “Come,” she said. “You can use a spare bed in my home. I’ll lend you a cauldron.” She produced a wand from her sleeve, and levitated the girl carefully, with a practised hand. (The latter squeaked shortly in protest at being so rudely lifted without consent.) 

“We mustn’t lose any time with injuries,” the older witch urged as Garreth got up to follow her. “Was it goblins? Or a beast?” 

“She tells me it was a Dark wizard,” Garreth answered honestly, pacing behind the woman as they all too soon reached a small run-down hut which appeared to be her home. Feldcroft sure was small. “Are you a mediwitch, Madam?” 

She tilted her head to the side to grace him with an unexpectedly pleasant smile over her shoulder as she opened the door. “Unfortunately no, but I’ve handled my fair share of wounds and lacerations. This village lost too many people last year, mostly to skirmishes with Ranrok's loyalists.” 

The girl was swiftly lowered to a bed immediately accessible upon entering. The bed itself was tucked under a staircase and facing the hearth. Their host conjured additional blankets and a dressing screen next to the bed, then stoked the sleepy embers with a quick Incendio, cast without even looking directly at the fireplace. 

“We do have some Wiggenweld on hand, but you'll have to brew the Blood Replenishing Potion, young man,” the woman told Garreth in a calm and collected tone. 

“Yes, of course,” he returned, somewhat breathless. 

“Any ingredients you need, just tell me, and myself and the neighbours will make sure to acquire some for you,” the older witch assured. 

She then turned to Garreth's companion, who was in the midst of propping herself up, and off the bed. “Now miss, please cooperate and lie back down this instant. The sooner you are comfortable, the sooner you will also be properly healed.” 

Her features were soft, but her voice was strict. Garreth was quite familiar with the sight; he had often seen both his aunt and mother take up this particular bearing to their posture, especially when they would scold him and his brothers in situations similar to this one, for being careless with their safety or health. 

The other student grumbled, but obeyed, sitting back down. 

Feeling relieved and comfortable in his decision to trust the older witch, Garreth turned to the fire to start on his own task. He grabbed a silver cauldron off the stack in the corner, and filled it with clean water via the Aguamenti spell. “Madam, may I ask where you keep your ingredients?” he began, turning around to find that both women had disappeared on the other side of the dressing screen. 

In the next moment, he heard the sound of ripping fabric, his favourite voice grunting, and the unfamiliar one sucking in air through teeth and tutting. 

Concentrate, Garreth, he scolded himself. “Madam?” 

“Sorry dear,” he heard a muffled reply from the woman. “They’re in the cabinet just behind the kitchen door.” 

The kitchen was barely a few steps away, and the door was barely a door – more so just the frame. Garreth laboured to stay focused as he tried not to listen to the older witch try several healing charms on whatever wounds the girl he fancied had sustained. The more names of spells he heard, the more worried he grew, and all the more rushed his own work became. 

Luckily, the older woman did not need to contact any of her neighbours for ingredients for the Blood Replenishing Potion. Garreth found them all in the cabinet, and carried them over all at once to have at hand by the hearth. He added one by one carefully into the boiling pot, stirring clockwise and counterclockwise as needed, and mending the fire to exactly the right temperatures for each step. 

After a while, he stripped his coat and robe. 

“Breathe deeply,” the woman was whispering, as his favourite’s breaths grew shallow. 

Garreth removed his tie, and undid a couple buttons. He stirred the cauldron. 

“Do not sleep. You must stay awake.” A sound of gentle slaps, skin on skin. “Stay awake.” 

Grunts turned into soft wails. “It’s hot…” she complained. 

“I know darling. I know,” the motherly voice was cooing. “Just a little more, and you can sleep. I promise.” 

You are mad, Garreth Weasley. He repeated the words absently, rhythmically, as he minded the potion. 

It was done, finally. All it needed now was cool. Garreth pulled the hearth hook away from the fire with his wand, and let the contents steam. He wished he could cool the potion artificially, but any such attempt would ruin it immediately. 

He stood for a prolonged second, mustering up the courage. 

“How is she,” he asked aloud, unmoving. 

For a brief while there was only silence, broken by soft wails and short and uneven breaths. Then he heard the older witch exhale heavily through her nose. 

“It seems to be some sort of curse,” she said quietly. “It prevents the wounds from closing. Spellwork is ineffective, and Wiggenweld only mends the skin for a minute or so, after which the lacerations reopen. It doesn't heal.” Another sigh. “I wish we could transfer her to St. Mungo’s, but she’s too weak for either Apparition or Floo already…” 

And then, a quiet: “Garreth…” In her voice. 

“Garreth…” louder, and a painful sob. 

Before he next blinked, his hands folded the dressing screen, and he was by her bedside. 

Gods, the state of her. The overwhelming coppery smell of fresh blood, probably until that point concealed by some obscure barrier the older witch had set up within the confines of the dressing screen and the cramped space below the staircase. All the red – on the sheets, on the conjured bandages, on the floor. Empty Wiggenweld Potion vials everywhere, by the dozen. Her dark hair, usually always light and springy, now soaked and stuck to her skin and the pillow. And her skin… Frozen deep grey, almost. It was riddled with incisions new and old. Faded scars that looked like lightning, stretching from her neck to below her stomach and under the sheets that hid her lower body, down and across her entire torso. 

What on earth had she even been through, all her life? Just how much about her did he have no idea about? 

Her biggest wound was exactly where he had expected, in her left abdomen, tightly wrapped in fresh white cloth, which was already soaking in new scarlets. 

Garreth stifled a sob, a scream, and the urge to vomit, all at once. Instead, he just took in a few forced, ragged breaths from behind his hand pressed over his mouth, and quietly knelt next to her pillow. 

“I’m here,” he was whispering. “I’m here. You’ll be okay. You will.” He swallowed thickly. “I’ll make sure.” 

His trembling hands wrapped around one of hers. She meekly squeezed back. 

“Garreth…” she panted, barely audible. Tears were streaming down the corners of her eyes, in straight lines that passed through her hairline toward her ears. “Sor…ry… I’m–” 

“Shhh…” Garreth soothed her. “Tell me later. You can tell me everything later.” He raised one hand, and carefully brushed some of her locks off her forehead. “I have some things to tell you too, later. So, you have to get through this, alright?” 

She whimpered, as if to protest, but did not attempt to speak anymore. 

The older witch approached Garreth from behind, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s feed her some of your potion, dear,” she said, as composedly as ever, and then approached the bedridden girl to force the contents of the vial she had carried in her hand down the latter’s throat. 

Garreth watched her from his place on the floor by the bed, temporarily rendered unable to do anything. The older witch did not ask him to either, as she went back to the cauldron to refill the vial she had no doubt conjured, and fed the girl another dose. 

“I’m not sure if a double dose is the safest,” she said after a moment, “but you would agree we have little choice right now.” She sighed. “Who knows how much blood she’d lost before you arrived here.” 

For hours, there were no major changes, for better or worse. The girl drifted into a state of unawareness, then finally, to sleep. 

Garreth and the older witch administered the Blood Replenishing Potion every hour – she showed him how to do it to an unconscious person. They monitored her breathing constantly, and changed her bandages whenever they would become unable to contain the blood, vanishing the old ones, and conjuring new ones out of thin air. Bottles and vials too. 

Garreth brewed constantly. Two medium silver cauldrons of Blood Replenishment, and dozens of smaller ones of Wiggenweld. They quickly ran out of ingredients, so the witch eventually went out to speak to neighbours for help. 

Garreth would not be replaced at the hearth. Not even after several other village women arrived to further divide the labour. He needed to make sure the potions were perfect, every brew. Others tended to the patient’s wounds, gave her medicine and water, cleaned, and made food and tea for everyone else. No one witch lingered for long, but they kept coming back, in almost perfectly organised shifts. 

The women gossiped a lot. It seemed to keep them sane through both their overwhelming work and monotonous routine, as well as through the horrors the hamlet had suffered in recent years. One of them recognised Garreth’s companion as The Hero of Hogwarts. From these women, he then learned of the goblin attacks, which had almost stopped completely within the past year since Ranrok’s defeat, although they still happened on occasion as isolated incidents. He was likewise told of the feats his classmates had performed for the local community, and much of Sebastian and Anne Sallow’s childhood. 

By the evening, the little hut had cleared of visitors again. The initial host had also gone out, and Garreth was left alone with the patient, brewing another Blood Replenishing Potion. 

Lost in his thoughts as he processed all of the new information he had heard, he reached for the hearth hook with his bare hand; jumping back the next moment, he toppled over the chair which the village witches had prepared for him to sit in as he managed the potions. 

Grunting, he straightened himself on the floor; and instantly, his ears caught the sound of a soft crack beneath the weight of his right forearm. He sat up onto his shins and turned around, noticing a couple vials of his earlier harvest shattered on the floorboards – they must've spilled from the pockets of his robe, which had been thrown over the now overturned chair. Seashell fragments mixed with what seemed to be a sample of hippocampus inner flesh, probably trapezius muscle. Of course, all now covered in blood of his own. Ruined. 

Garreth sighed, his nerves too tired for him to get upset. He lifted his arm to inspect the damage to his own flesh. Fully prepared to mend the skin with Episkey and not waste any vitally needed potions on himself, he produced a handkerchief from the back pocket of his trousers, using it to remove the debris from his forearm and get a better view of the injury.

Unfinished draft

[weirdraccoon]

Daddy Fig’s reaction to Em-Sea getting in a fist fight. Maybe she has a rival like Harry Potter vs Malfoy and they just start fighting in the hallway.

First it’s magic they use then it’s fists. Ik wizards don’t usually fist fight but I want it to be bad. Also all the students are egging them in chanting “fight fight fight fight!” Fig hears it outside his office and goes to investigate and he sees Em-Sea going at it hard core with someone. They just fucking each other up.

No one knows what started it or who started it. The Slytherins would claim the Gryffindor started it, while the Gryffindors would blame the Slytherin involved. Hufflepuffs weren't sure but some under-the-table bets were going around and Ravenclaws didn't even realize a fight was taking place.

It was finals week.

All Fig heard from his classroom was the chanting of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" and then Matilda's voice stopping whoever was fighting in the courtyard.

"That bloody mud-blood is a savage!" A boy's voice reached Fig through the open window. "She attacked me!"

"Oh, come on Greengrass, she didn't even have her wand out," Sallow's distinct drawl replied.

Now curious, Fig leaned over the desks he had by the windows and peered outside.

Of course.

Up from his office, he could see Em-Sea cleaning blood off her fists on her robes while Sebastian plucked dry leaves and grass from her hair. All in all, she looked like she had been wrestling around on the ground. Which by the sound of it, she had.

In front of her was Matilda, arms on her hips, looking like the powerful and intimidating witch she could be. And behind Matilda, was a Slytherin boy glaring daggers at Em-Sea over Matilda's shoulder. Fig wasn't fast enough to hide the smirk that formed on his face when he noticed the boy's nose was bleeding.

Matilda, however, looked ready to expel Em-Sea right then and there. So, Fig hastened out of his classroom, down the stairs, and through the doors that led to the courtyard.

"In all my years in the castle," Matilda was ranting, red-faced, and angrier than Fig had seen her. "Duels I can understand! But fist-fighting!? Are you a witch or some... brute that was raised in a barn?"

Em-Sea's eyes spoke of the anger she was feeling. fig knew those eyes. Before she could answer the headmistress he stepped in and waved his wand over the Slytherin's face. The boy grunted in pain, which caught Matilda's attention and she turned around to stare at Fig and his wand.

"There, all fixed," he said dismisively. "I'm sure duels cause more problems than just a broken nose. Easily fixable with magic if I say so myself. One wrong spell and who knows how many days young Mr. Greengrass would have spent in the infirmary."

Matilda's glare was no longer on Em-Sea but on Fig, but at least she was no longer yelling or scolding anyone.

"Come on, Em-er, Miss Seabough," Fig waved her over. "We'll talk about detention in my office."

Em-Sea shook her head at Sebastian when he made to follow and went by herself after Fig.

"I'm so very disappointed in you, Em-Sea," Fig shook his head. "Fist-fighting on Hogwarts grounds? I don't think anyone ever dared do that."

Em-Sea lowered her head. She didn't regret putting that snobbish racist pureblood in his place. He deserved to be shown what a mudblod such as her was able to do, magic or not. She did regret however that her emotions got the better of her. Again. That Fig was dissapointed in her and that he will probably in trouble with the Headmistress after interfering like he did.

"I'm sure Mr. Greengrass will be fine," Fig waved it off once they entered his office, grabbing her hands to carefully clean them off the boy's blood. "That was good hit, by the way," he winked. "I'm sure no one will call you names in your face without a second thought after this."

Em-Sea blushed.

"It wasn't that good. They're just weak," she shrugged.

"Extraordinary," Fig refuted, tilting her head to check for more injuries. "I'd be more disapointed if that was your blood."

Em-Sea snorted and pushes his hands away. She was fine.

"So... Detention?"

Fig shrugged.

"If anyone asks, I had you writing lines for five hours before tearing them and throwing them away."

"They do seem to like that," MC mussed, thinking about her last detention with Hecat.

"Now, any homework I can help with?"

[eleven-times-lively]

I’ve Always Been There

Hi, if you’re talking requests I would like to request a Harry x reader where he’s crushing super hard on a very popular girl above his year and his friends tease him about it. Thank you!

I love!! I wasn’t sure if you wanted the reader to be one of his friends or the popular girl, so I interpreted/changed it up a bit, hope you don’t mind. Let me know!

Summary: Harry was too busy pining after an older student to notice that you’d always been there Word Count: 1383 Note: I couldn’t seem to write this week...oops. Enjoy!💕

“Oi! Potter! Over here, mate!” Ron called from within the pitched Weasley tent. It was the quidditch world cup, and the entire Weasley family, plus a few friends, were in attendance. “What were you looking at?”

“Oh I bet it was Matilda…” Fred exclaimed, sauntering by with a stack of team apparel.

“Matilda?” you questioned, stopping Fred in his tracks.

“Oh, just this sixth year who Harry’s been smitten with.” Fred’s comment earned a spread of low ‘ooohhs’ from the group. Trying to mask your disappointment, you joined in.

“Think she’s a little old for you, Har,” you joked as you followed Fred outside.

***

School had started a few weeks ago, and Harry had walked into the dining hall for breakfast, a bit more flustered than normal. Harry was a chaotic being - having gotten used to waking up just a minute too late and having to rush himself into robes and to breakfast - thus he always entered the hall in a hurricane of energy. However today he was slower in his way. Still energetic, yes, but slow and concentrated, as if asked a life-changing question at the doors. His cheeks donned a light blush and his mouth crept up in the corners. 

“What’s up with you?” you questioned, pointing your melon-adorned fork at the boy.

“I-”, but before he had a chance to answer Hermione cut in.

“By the looks of him he probably saw Miss Matilda Fey in the hallway.” 

“Ooohh Harry! A little morning treat before breakfast!” Ron exclaimed through his mouth of toast and pumpkin juice.

“Think about how you sound, Weasley…” you chided before turning back to Harry, “glad to see something’s got you all fired up. Haven’t seen you this cheeky since the topless painting in the staircases blew you a kiss.” The table cracked up laughing while Harry flushed a deep, embarrassed red, giving you a soft kick on the leg.

“So tell us about her, Harry” Hermione perked, cocking an eyebrow at the boy. She’d made a mistake in asking.

“Oh! So she’s a sixth year Ravenclaw. Pureblood and popular. She was the one that hexed the Slytherin common room door last year so they all got zapped when they touched the door handle. Chaser in quidditch, and wow is she good at it. Her favorite flowers are petunias, I always see her out in the back fields near the owlery where the wildflowers grow. She has a pet tabby cat and, wow you’ll never believe this, she can cast a full patronus! A horse! How amazing is that! Oh! And her mom is an animagus! I mean, not to sound rash, but I think we may be soulmates.” Harry was out of breath from speaking so fast. He just stopped, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide staring at the three of you. “Well? What do you think? Isn’t she lovely?”

“Very… interesting.” Hermione quickly added as to not upset Harry as you all got up from the breakfast table.

***

Later at quidditch practice it was Gryffindor’s turn to host a practice match against Ravenclaw. The practice matches were a rarity, as the students could never quite control themselves, forgetting it’s only practice. It was your first year as a chaser for the team, and you were very good at it, but you’d never played a match before. Not only that, but Matilda would be your direct opposition. She was all smiles and giggles with her teammates, exchanging high-fives and long practiced and kept secret handshakes as the brooms were raised. You only stared, as if into her soul to find the very bit that Harry found magnetic. You were so engrossed that you hadn’t heard Harry call over your shoulder.

“Y/n!!”

“Hmm? Oh! Harry! Good luck, mate!” You flashed a warm smile at the boy.

“You too, dear. First match! You’ll kill it!”

You weren’t sure if it was the nickname or the very comment that made you want to melt more.

“Hi Matilda!” Harry called across the pitch at the girl.

“Harry there is no way she could have--” you started when she responded.

“Harry! Good luck, mate… but not too much!” She waved at the boy before twirling a strand of her short, perfectly curled platinum hair. She let out an airy giggle before returning to the confused glances from teammates.

“Wait… you actually know her?”

“Oh… a bit I suppose. Isn’t my first year in quidditch.”

You gave a knowing, albeit heavy, nod as the balls were released into the air and the whistle was blown. Ignoring the quaffle, you went straight for Matilda. Whizzing past at near top speed, you gave her a good nudge with her elbow, and doubled back with a swift push of your foot on the other side.

“Y/n!” she exclaimed, rather angrily, “the bloody ball isn’t even near us! Watch out!”

You immediately regretted your actions, but wouldn’t give up so easily.  If you couldn’t take her out, you could at least help to win the game.

You played the hardest you ever had. Swerving and dashing, scoring six goals in total before Harry caught the snitch. The whistle was blown, but the brooms weren’t lowered. An older Gryffindor was still set on launching the bludger one last time, seeking revenge on the Ravenclaw who had stolen a goal from you earlier in the game. However, his plan didn’t quite work out. Rather than hitting the Ravenclaw keeper, the bludger hit Matilda square in the stomach, and she came tumbling down towards the pitch floor. 

“Matilda!” Harry and the entire Ravenclaw team screamed at once, all of the brooms lowering. 

The Ravenclaw team surrounded Matilda, and Harry tried to join the group.

“Harry! Wait up!” you hollered, running after him.

“Y/n? Is it important? Matilda is hurt!”

“No I know, and her team is there and Pomfrey just arrived, she’ll be okay. And our beater is now suspended. Can we talk?”

“Yeah, but later…” he trailed off, still trying to head for Matilda. 

“Harry!” you exclaimed a bit too loudly as you grabbed his arm a bit too hard.

“Y/n!” he exclaimed right back in the same manner, “What’s gotten into you? I like her, and I need to be there right now if I want to show her I care!”

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry, she bloody knows!”

“Pardon?”

“She’s a gorgeous, brilliant, popular sixth year. It’s not going to happen!”

The pitch had cleared out except for the two of you, and Harry looked genuinely hurt.

“How could you say that?”

“Because I know what it looks like when someone likes you. To have reciprocated feelings, or at least to have someone liking you for once. It’s not hard to spot from an outside view, and I don’t see it.” You both took a seat in the grass.

“And how do you suppose you know all this?” “Cause I’m here right now watching it. And I’ve always been there, Harry. Through every high and low moment these past four years, we’ve been together. It hurts, knowing I’m here unconditionally, then you go off and pour your heart into an older girl who wouldn’t even know you if it weren’t for quidditch.”

“Y/n…”

“No, I know it’s crazy, I do, I’m absolutely looney, but I had to say that before it was improper… more than it already is.”

“Bloody hell, y/n I like you too.”

“Sorry, pardon?”

“On and off since the moment I laid eyes on you in the great hall during sorting. I remember feeling so excited when you were sorted Gryffindor. Those same feelings when you aced exams, cast your first patronus, and finally made the team. I’ve always been there for you, even if you didn’t notice. I gave up the end of last year cause I figured it was never going to happen.”

“Harry…”

“Y/n…” 

There was nothing left to do but embrace, everything unspoken suddenly understood. 

***

The next morning, you were able to walk into the dining hall hand-in-hand.

“In Merlin’s name what is this?” Ron questioned, not even hiding his surprise.

“Something that’s been waiting to happen for a long time.” Hermione added, a warm smile spreading between the group as you and Harry sat down - this time united as a couple.

[camelot-dragonlord]

Harry Potter Canon Call

Haha, I miss my friends and everyone I care about.

HP Kin: Tom Marvolo Riddle (I have loads of HP kins, but this is who I’m looking for canonmates from right now)

Bodily Age: 20 (please no one younger than 16/17 if you’re kin with the same people I was friends with and no one younger than 18 if you’re kin with the same person(s) I was romantically or sexually involved with)

Who I’m looking for (all timelines): Abraxas Malfoy, Walburga Black, Orion Black, Cygnus Black, Septimus Weasley, Druella Rosier, or really just anyone who remembers being apart of the Knights of Walpurgis or friends with me.

Who I’m looking for (some timelines): Merope Gaunt (if you remember being a single parent to your son, Tom, or rasing him with a Pureblood Tom Riddle Sr) and Tom Riddle Sr (again, if you remember raising your son, Tom, with Merope Gaunt). Probably about 99.99999% of timelines I grew up in the orphanage alone, but there were a very small handful where Merope Gaunt survived and raised me (within the orphanage, they hired her as a cook) or where Tom Riddle Sr was a pureblood and actually loved Merope so they raised me together. Damien (I don’t remember his last name, more information below).

Who I’m not looking for (any timelines): Albus Percival Wilfric Brian Dumbledore and Gellert Grindlewald. Also, while I doubt anyone kins her, I definitely don’t want to be contacted by any Ms. Cole (matron of Wool’s Orphanage). If you’re a sourcemate Dumbledore or Grindlewald, then I won’t care as much if you interact or want to chat. I just don’t want any of the ones from my timelines contacting me.

Timelines (since I have loads):

I dated Cygnus (sometimes Cygnalia or Cygnilia) Black in a lot of timelines as well as the before mentioned Damien and some other non-canons as well. Damien was a muggle, but the other non-canons I dated were magical. In about half the timelines I dated Cygnus, he was a gay man but when it was Cygnalia or Cygnilia I dated, she was a transgirl! Regardless of the timeline, Cy had lovely parents! Damien never had parents and grew up in the orphanage with me while the non-canons changed based on each timeline.

Walburga was pretty much always a plus sized lesbian Queen who loved Druella. Walburga was one of my best friends, though she could get overly motherly at times. Druella was really sweet, but I don’t remember a whole lot about her right now. I do believe she had two sisters in most of my timelines. Their names might have been Lily and Tobi but I can’t remember. One if them was a staight ally and really feminine while the other played quidditch and was a tomboy.

Abraxas toed between being my best friend, QPP, and someone I dated a in a couple timelines as well. A few timelines we were sexually but not romantically involved. If we didn’t end up together permanently, he usually ended up in an arranged marriage with a girl named Matilda who I don’t believe went to Hogwarts.

Orion was a very swell yet very gay guy who was in love with one of Druella’s cousins? named Alex. I think they were cousins anyways. Orion was very supportive of me, like everyone else, but wasn’t as outgoing at the rest of us to my knowledge.

Septimus was a Gryffindor (everyone else above was either in Slytherin or no house) and a really great friend. He usually married a ravenclaw girl named Artemis. I think she was part of the Sayre family but can’t remember.

(Extra: In a couple lifetimes, Rubeus Hagrid and I got along and bonded over Magical Creatures. We weren’t extremely close but he was chill. Minerva McGonagal and I often had a budding rivalry in all of our classes to see who would be at the top. I never killed Myrtle Warren and honestly didn’t know her too well but I did try to be nice to her. I didn’t see much of a reason not to; she was just an insecure kid like most of us were. I didn’t get along well with the Lestrange brothers in my year and don’t really want to find them, tbh. I don’t remember their first names, but it wasn’t Rabastian and Rodolphus because those are the Lestrange brothers in the Marauders’ era not mine. The Knights and I weren’t the same as source when it comes to our beliefs. In fact, we sort of had a punk like movement of “Pureblood Supremacy is a Lie.” Our main focus was putting in place Magical Orphanages for witches, wizards, and magical creatures alike as well as putting a stop to abuse of all magical beings. We wanted to make society more fair and just overall better.)

If You want to talk about our canons more in-depth together, then please reply to this, reblog with your kins, or message me!

[evienott]

( CISFEMALE , SHE/HER ) EVELYN “EVIE” NOTT is a GRYFFINDOR whose favorite subject is ANCIENT RUNES, maybe because they are FREE-SPIRITED but also RECKLESS. They might be so popular because they look like DANIELLE CAMPBELL and they are a PUREBLOOD, can you believe they are a SIXTH YEAR? rumors say they support NEUTRAL. where do they go from here? ( asbury, 25, they/them, est )

basics  —

Full Name: Evelyn Matilda “Evie” Nott

Age: Sixteen

Birthday: November 11; Scorpio

Blood Status: Pureblood

personality  —

(+) Positive Traits: Free-spirited, curious, steadfast, confident

(-) Negative Traits: Reckless, hedonistic, petty, vindictive

life at hogwarts  —

House: Gryffindor

Year: Sixth

Wand: Blackthorn wood, 8 and ½ inches, with a phoenix tail feather, slightly swishy. 

Best Class: Ancient Runes

Worse class: Arthimancy

Pets: A skunk named Priscilla (the sprayer has been removed), an arctic fox named Ghost, a puffskein named Arizona, and a giant purple toad named Magnolia (sorry to everyone in Gryffindor tower)

Boggart: Herself soaked in water after drowning

Patronus: Unknown (she hasn’t been able to produce one)

Extracurriculars: Gryffindor Quidditch team (beater), dueling club

biography —

(tw: pregnancy)

Chapter 1.  

 Growing up as the youngest child in a family that belonged to the Sacred 28 wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. From a young age, Evelyn realized to tread lightly, to watch her step and to hide behind her mother for protection. Her father wasn’t the most empathetic of individuals, or empathetic at all, and she had learned that the silence in their house was a bad sign very quickly. When she and her brother were in trouble, their father didn’t raise his voice, which only made him more menacing. And it didn’t take much for him to get angry. Unfortunately, his temper was something Evelyn had inherited. Despite her mother continually telling her not to cause an argument or to talk back, Evelyn never listened and always let her short fuse get the better of her. Growing up meant she was forming her own opinions and becoming her own person and, while her mother still held onto her pureblood ideals, she was far more tolerant than Evelyn’s father. Once, while her mother was out shopping, she’d ignored the calls to go inside and continued playing. Her father was angry at her behavior and locked her outside while thunderclouds began to roll over the area, despite her horrible fear of drowning. 

Her parents had only been teenagers when they had her, unprepared to raise two children when they hadn’t even loved each other to begin with and when Evelyn was old enough, they divorced. Where her brother chose to stay with their father, Evelyn went with their mother. She’d always been closer to her to begin and she begged Leo to join them, but he had refused and stayed with their father. That had been crushing to her as a seven year old, but nothing she said had changed his mind. Despite their separation, she did her best to stay close to her brother, writing letters as often as she could and eagerly awaiting a letter from him in return. Other than Alecto Carrow, who she had spent a lot of time with, getting shoved into a room together during dinners with their parents, Leo was her best friend and being away from him hurt. 

Chapter 2. 

It was almost with a sick sense of satisfaction that Evie got sorted into Gryffindor. It would have given her father a heart attack if she knew and remembering that he wasn’t a good person and her brother had chose to stay, she wished it would. Being the kind of person he was, she had very clear desires that she wanted from her father: for him to die. That Hat had almost a genuine hatstall, trying to figure out where to put her. Her curiosity spoke to Ravenclaw, her propensity towards nursing animals back to health to Hufflepuff. Slytherin was briefly considered but she firmly asked not to be placed there, because it would mean she was the type of person her father wanted her to be and that was the last type of person she wanted to be. At every point the Hat made, she argued against it, not even sure what she was arguing for. Fed up, it had asked where she wanted to be put and she said Gryffindor, without hesitation. Why? Because it would make a large majority of the Sacred 28 angry and that was fun for her (despite the Hat saying that was a very Slytherin reason). It had called out Gryffindor four minutes after Evie had the Hat placed upon her head. 

The first animal she brought in with her was a toad, named Magnolia, and it was her best friend for the first few months of school. The toad usually perched on her head and she took to wearing her hair in a manner that helped her rest comfortably. Spring break of her first year, she returned with a rabbit she had saved from a polecat and nursed back to heath. No one had known she snuck it in until one of the older girls noticed it had escaped from the first year dorms. Even her mother thought it had been released into the wild. That started the long standing (six years as of the beginning of school this year) tradition of her seeing how many animals she could smuggle into the castle. The girls in her year have generally agreed that as long as she cleaned up after them, they didn’t have an issue and the girls in the years below were thrilled to be involved in such a secret. This is the first year she’s ever been so brazen as to enter the castle with three pets that aren’t allowed. (Although a bat was probably her most ambitious of them, but it escaped after Peeves startled her. Rumour has it, the bat is still flying around the castle somewhere.) 

Chapter 3. 

Though her father was a Death Eater, her mother had never gotten a Dark Mark herself. She followed the ideals, though not as stringently, and as distance passed and she was separated from her ex-husband, her mother’s views had opened up far more and she’d proven to be kinder and more tolerant than her ex. That had introduced a whole new set of ideals for Evelyn. Despite having grown up best friends with one of the Dark Lord’s more devoted followers, she firmly doesn’t believe in the ideas he preached. Part of her chalks it up to having had her mother’s influence affect her, but a small part of her knows that even if she’d been raised by both of them and her father was in her life, she wouldn’t have become a Death Eater purely out of spite. They both had tempers, their anger clashed. Evie never took it lying down as a child and had found hatred for him very young. Anything she could do to piss him off, she would.

It didn’t even hit her until her fourth year that she was living out of spite and to anger a man who didn’t give a damn about her. Who probably had never heard about any of the things she had been doing. Or rather, the people she had been doing. But by that point, it had been too late for her to change her ways, because she found herself throwing up one morning and realized with a horrible thought that she was late. An emergency trip to St. Mungo’s confirmed that she was pregnant. And despite her trying to convince her mother to let her stay in the castle over breaks so she didn’t have to admit the truth, she had to return home. Though her mother would have allowed her to be homeschooled for the rest of the year so she didn’t have to attend school pregnant (as she had done with Leo), Evie went back and had her daughter, slightly premature, three days after the end of her fourth year. Despite how badly she wanted to keep her daughter, the adoption had already been planned out. 

Chapter 4.

Any therapist worth their salt would say that she channeled the pain from giving up her child into taking care of animals and, if she wasn’t still upset over it, Evie would probably agree with them. But she had never been the type to slow down and being pregnant had kept her from the dueling club, from playing quidditch, and generally being comfortable. She pretends that she isn’t upset, that the year and a half it’s been has been enough time to heal the hurt, but it hasn’t. She just allows herself to find new things to fill the gap, keep her entertained, and maybe she can pretend it didn’t happen. At the very least, news of the Dark Lord falling had distracted her over the summer. Her mother had reached out to her brother, and she’d even heard that her father wasn’t doing too well. A very large part of her was glad. He didn’t deserve to be doing well. 

But she was worried about her brother. Leo, who had stayed with him, who had conceivably joined the Death Eaters in their father’s footsteps. It doesn’t seem like him, like the Leo he was behind the mask, when they were together, but people did what they had to do to survive and her brother was no exception. Frankly, she’s glad he’s dead, but primarily because she had a vendetta against anything that made her father happy. Despite knowing that she hasn’t seen or heard from him in years or that he doesn’t care how she’s doing, she still wants him to suffer in every way imaginable. If she has to, she’ll even take matters into her own hands. 

[aparecium-hq]

Name: Matilda Nott Birthday (Age): May 3, 2004 (23) Gender (Pronouns): Female (She/Her) Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Occupation: Aspiring Singer Faceclaim: Barbie Ferreira

Character Teaser

Matilda has always been what her parents wanted. She was sorted into the right house and made mostly the right friends. They were willing to overlook some of her more unorthodox tendencies as long as she made the right choice in the end--that being their choice, of course. For most of her life, Matilda had the willingness to do that, but now that she has now lost the love of her life listening to them, Matilda is starting to reconsider whether continuing to listen to her parents is even worth it. At the prospect of walking down the aisle to meet Raphael Selwyn, she wants a way out if that’s even possible.

Feelings on Magical Integration

Matilda has openly grown attached to muggle technology and quietly grown attached to the idea of societal integration. She’d be hard-pressed to admit it, but the idea of talking to muggles thrills her. She knows the opinion wouldn’t be a popular one in the circles she keeps and that her fascination would probably hinge on objectification to self-announced integrationists, so she plans to keep those ideas to herself. That doesn’t stop her from thinking them.

Biography

When Matilda was born her grandparents had gifted her a beautiful, ornate, silver rattle. It had been decorated with intricate silver flowers embedded with diamonds, a gold snake twisting up the handle with eyes of emeralds which peered at the newborn who looked back, completely perplexed. The long silver handle was far too thin for her tiny hands to grip properly, and the rattle head too heavy for her to lift, let alone shake. Matilda’s mother had quickly ripped it away from her when they found the baby with the rattle end in her mouth, trying to chew on it and covering it in dribble. From that moment on the rattle lived in one of the Nott mansion’s many hallway display cases, out of reach from Matilda for whom it was useless for anyway, and on display.

Matilda always tried to please her parents, she just often found herself confused at what they were expecting from her. Their standards were impossibly high that she often wondered if they were setting her up for failure. As a child they expected perfect manners, her face to always have a polite smile and for her clothes to stay pressed and neat. While Matilda said her please and thank yous, smiled graciously at guests, and made sure to never spill her food down her front ,by the end of the day her hair had always fallen out of its tight braids and her skirt had become wrinkled. While Theodore and Juniper’s friends thought of Matilda as the perfect daughter that they all wished they had, Matilda often saw her mother purse her lips and look scoldingly at Matilda while brushing the creases out of her dresses. She was good enough not to be punished, but not perfect.

During her school days her parents expected Matilda to be top of every class, for her to make the right friends and for her to keep out of trouble. Matilda studied hard in the library, handed in all of her homework on time and achieved Os or Es in nearly every subject she took at O.W.L and N.E.W.T level. Her teachers generally thought favourably of her, complimenting her classwork and praising her work ethic, but with every E on her report card, Matilda was told by her parents she needed to work harder. Good enough to not get a howler, but not perfect.

Matilda was sorted into Slytherin and largely kept her friendship group within her house, the only notable exception being Saoirse Finnigan. Her parents, while not knowing the extent of the girls’ relationship, knew that Saoirse was not the kind of girl Matilda should be friends with. Every time her parents asked if she had stopped spending time with “That Hufflepuff Girl” and insisted she spend more time with her Slytherin classmates  Matilda was reminded her choice of friends was good enough for them not to make a fuss, but not perfect.

Matilda started to get bored of this in her teenage years. She knew she would never be perfect in their eyes and had many restless nights wondering if it was even worth trying anymore. There were times when she considered just telling them to go screw themselves - she’d written out speeches she wanted to yell across the dining hall. She wanted to tell them that they couldn’t control her, she was her own person and she would do whatever the fuck she wanted. These daydreams increased in frequency when she realised she was in love with Saoirse.

It had happened slowly. They’d been friends for a while already when Saoirse had asked her out on a date. It had come as a complete surprise to Matilda who had never bothered to think much about relationships - she was going to marry some handsome Slytherin boy that her parents liked, that had always been the plan. She’d agreed to the date anyway though. The excitement of this small rebellion, a few dates with the Hufflepuff girl, was enough to satiate Matilda’s need to stick it to her parents. Not that they ever knew, of course. Just picturing their faces was enough for Matilda, it would have been far too scary to actually tell them.

A few dates lead to a few more and Matilda was enjoying herself too much to think about how painful it would be when it had to end. But it did have to end. Matilda had always known that, even if she’d neglected to tell Saoirse. It was selfish and wrong, even Matilda knew that. Five years together and she neither had the courage to tell her parents they were together or tell Saoirse it would never work. It was ultimately Saoirse who had to walk away, leaving Matilda alone and heartbroken.

After graduating from Hogwarts and splitting with Saoirse, Matilda found her back living in her parents’ mansion, under their thumb once more. They had this idea that Matilda should become a classical singer. She’d had singing lessons as a child and had shown some talent for it. She’d been in the Hogwarts choir and often had solos but she was not professional material. It was a delusion of Matilda’s mother, who adored the opera, that one day they would sit proudly and watch Matilda in her favourite opera The Magic Flute. Matilda was not under the same delusion as her mother, but she did as she was told and attended auditions. What was the point in protesting? It was the first time her parents had thought she might be good at something.

It was a special kind of humiliation being rejected from every single audition and seeing her mother’s disappointed eyes every single time. When Matilda suggested she might be better suited to something more academic, her mother scoffed and reminded her of the smattering of Es on her report card. Besides, Matilda was of the age that she was expected to marry soon and at that point a full time job was out of the question. Singing might offer some flexibility.

The idea of being wed was too painful for Matilda to think about, her break up with Saoirse still feeling like a fresh wound, but after a couple of years of Matilda dragging her feet her parents chose for her. Raphael Selwyn. Handsome, smart and from good stock. She’d resisted the idea at first, but it was futile. If she wasn’t going to fulfil her parents’ wishes then why had she thrown Saoirse away? It wouldn’t be such a bad life. She’d learn to move on, learn to be happy with Raphael, learn to finally please her parents. At least now she was too busy choosing wedding dresses with her mother to embarrass herself at auditions.

Connections

Raphael Selwyn: Matilda was talked into an engagement with this near-stranger, and she now lies awake at night trying to figure out a way to break things off without creating a scandal.

Saoirse Finnigan: Matilda’s best friend and Hogwarts sweetheart who walked away when Matilda refused to refuse her parents’ engagement plans. Matilda doesn’t blame her but desperately wants her back.

Rose Weasley: Rose used to be the friend Matilda could count on for anything, but lately Matilda can’t seem to pin her down. It must be because Rose is busy, right? Matilda can’t imagine Rose of all people avoiding her.

Matilda is played by Cat.