#mention: frank longbottom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 1 year ago

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❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society.

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black.

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun.

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways.

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun.

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused.

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.”

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt.

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?”

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?”

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.”

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.”

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—”

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society.

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly.

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.”

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?”

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it.

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!”

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity.

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give.

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress.

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry.

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight.

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat.

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period.

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then—

“That’s Sirius.”

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit.

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.”

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!”

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.”

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either.

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.)

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.”

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.”

You grimace. “Which cousin?”

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.”

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.”

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.”

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.”

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.”

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice.

You nod.

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.”

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe.

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.”

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you.

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.”

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?”

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.”

“Oh, Harry. . .”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?”

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath.

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly.

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?”

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.”

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?”

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes.

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.”

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be.

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.”

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space.

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered.

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved.

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease.

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open.

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.”

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears.

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!”

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.”

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.”

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked.

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?”

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations.

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?”

Were you?

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend!

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize.

Then, you find it.

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face.

It’s a space on that wall just for you.

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.”

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much.

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.”

That’s all you say before you run out of the door.

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.)

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe.

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.”

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.”

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well.

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.”

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes.

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.”

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!”

You don’t look back.

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.”

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair.

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.”

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you.

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?”

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks.

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?”

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.”

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater.

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra.

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more.

“Certain,” You respond, yawning.

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones.

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!”

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out.

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came.

“I know,” You say defeatedly.

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.”

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.”

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?”

“I don’t know,” You say honestly.

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora.

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well.

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.”

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.”

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home.

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order.

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips.

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.”

“I’m always right.” You pout.

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.”

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back.

How lucky you are.

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen.

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly.

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.”

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!”

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.”

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.”

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway.

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.”

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.”

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will.

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!”

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.”

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?”

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.”

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.”

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.”

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.”

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?”

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror.

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.”

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll.

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.”

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm��s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them.

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.”

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?”

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.”

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.”

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness.

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters.

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement.

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue.

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead.

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.”

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?”

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast.

“Avada Kedavra!”

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor.

“No!”

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice.

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh.

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?”

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need.

“Expulso!”

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down.

“Accio wand!”

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense.

“Peter?” You call out.

“Crucio!”

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt.

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!”

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.”

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.”

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat.

“Defodio!”

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground.

That just leaves one more problem.

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.”

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.”

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.”

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die, s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.”

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow.

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work.

You just wanted to rest now.

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words.

“Avada Kedavra.”

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms.

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.”

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely.

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?”

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?”

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?”

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.”

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?”

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors.

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!”

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.”

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.)

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus.

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains.

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.)

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by.

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for.

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #sunny's hp fics

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zrvllya · 14 days ago

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

pairing - james potter x fem! reader

heart — „ not on one knee, but two. both knees pressed to the cold tile, looking up at you with those hazel eyes that had always seen straight through to your soul. his hands had reached for you, circled your waist, pulled you close until his face pressed against your stomach. "

warnings - fluff, mild language, drunken shenanigans, sirius black’s chaos, brief mentions of blood purity, implied past bullying, lycanthropy references, emotional speeches, accidental public proposal (sort of), excessive flirting, bedhead appreciation

word count - 6,000+

marauders era masterlist

────────────

your glass is half empty, but your heart is full. music pulses through the magically expanded tent, fairy lights strung across the ceiling like captured stars. you watch james across the room, his hair just as wild as the day you met him, his smile just as bright. he's talking to sirius, laughing at something his best friend said, and then—as if pulled by some unseen force—his eyes find yours through the crowd.

his gaze softens. seven years together and he still looks at you like you're his favorite constellation in the night sky.

"you're staring again," lily says, nudging you with her elbow. her emerald eyes sparkle with amusement.

"it's my wedding. i'm allowed," you reply, taking another sip of champagne. "besides, have you seen my husband?"

the word still feels strange on your tongue. husband. james potter is your husband.

"only every day for the past decade," lily rolls her eyes. "though i will admit he cleans up nice. even if he couldn't be bothered to tame that bird's nest he calls hair."

"i'd have married someone else if he had," you say, and it's true. james wouldn't be james without the perpetual bedhead, without the crooked glasses and lopsided grin.

marlene mckinnon slides into the seat on your other side, her cheeks flushed from dancing or drinking or both. "there's the blushing bride," she says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "how does it feel to finally make an honest man of james potter?"

"like i've made a terrible mistake," you deadpan, making lily snort into her drink.

"too late now," marlene grins, passing you a shot of something amber and potent-smelling. "might as well enjoy the ride."

you take the shot, wincing at the burn. "where's dorcas?"

"last i saw, teaching frank longbottom how to dance properly. poor alice was looking relieved."

across the room, james excuses himself from sirius and makes his way toward you, navigating through dancing couples and tipsy well-wishers. he moves with that same casual confidence that used to make you want to hex him and kiss him in equal measure.

"there you are," he says when he reaches you, as if you've been lost rather than standing in plain sight. his hand finds yours, fingers interlacing. "miss me?"

"terribly," you deadpan. "these whole five minutes have been excruciating."

"don't mind me," lily says. "i'll just go find remus and leave you two to be disgustingly in love."

"i'll come with," marlene adds, giving you a wink. "save her from the third-wheeling."

james watches them go before turning back to you, tugging you closer until you're pressed against him. "having fun, mrs. potter?"

"that's not my name," you remind him. you'd kept your own.

"worth a shot," he grins, not at all put out. "having fun, then, light of my life? star of my existence? keeper of my—"

you press your finger to his lips. "if you say 'heart' i'm filing for divorce."

"i was going to say 'keeper of my chocolate frog card collection,' actually, which is much more sacred than my heart. you can have a dozen hearts. there's only one mint condition dumbledore from 1968."

this makes you laugh, the sound lost in the music. "yes, i'm having fun. are you?"

"best day of my life," he says, suddenly serious. his hazel eyes, warm behind his glasses, hold yours. "well, second best. best was when you said yes in our kitchen while wearing my quidditch jersey and nothing else."

"james!" you hiss, glancing around, but no one is paying attention to you.

"what? it's true," he shrugs, unrepentant. "you looked like a dream, with your hair all messy and that hangover potion in your hand. knew right then i'd made the right choice."

"you'd already bought the ring," you point out. "four months before, according to sirius."

"seven," james corrects. "bought it seven months before. sirius can't keep a secret for shit."

you blink at him. "seven months? we'd only been living together for—"

"three years, yes. but i knew long before that." james pulls you toward the edge of the dance floor, away from the crush of bodies. "want to get some air?"

you nod, letting him lead you outside the tent. the summer night embraces you, warm and fragrant with flowers from the garden. music drifts through the canvas, muted now. fairy lights dot the garden path, illuminating the way to a small bench beneath an oak tree.

james sits, pulling you down beside him. his thumb traces circles on the back of your hand.

"what did you mean, you knew long before?" you ask.

he smiles, the kind of smile that starts in his eyes. "do you remember centennial park?"

"of course." it was your favorite spot in london, a place you'd often go to read and escape the chaos of the city. "what about it?"

"i saw you there once. before we properly spoke. you were sitting on the grass, reading, and i thought you were the most beautiful thing i'd ever seen."

you stare at him. "what? when was this?"

"summer before sixth year. i was with sirius, visiting his cousin andromeda. we were walking through the park and there you were."

"why didn't you say anything?"

james laughs softly. "because i was sixteen and stupid. i was so afraid of messing it up. after five years of watching you from afar at hogwarts, almost working up the courage a hundred times only to chicken out... sirius would have never let me live it down if i'd frozen again."

you try to remember that summer, try to picture james potter—all gangly limbs and untamable hair—watching you from across a park. "i don't believe you."

"true story. you were wearing a blue sundress. had your hair up in this messy bun thing." his fingers brush against your neck, mimicking the style. "there was a coffee cup next to you—"

"from that little shop on the corner," you finish. "the one with the blueberry scones."

james nods. "i almost went over to talk to you. sirius dared me to. but then someone called your name and you packed up your things and left."

"and then what? you continued pining for me until we finally got together in sixth year?" you tease, remembering how it all changed between you.

"hey," james protests with a soft smile. "it wasn't just pining. i was strategizing."

"strategizing?" you laugh. "is that what you call staring at me across the great hall for five years?"

"it was sophisticated wooing," james insists. "carefully planned and executed."

"you accidentally turned my potions book into a singing toad."

"that was phase one," he says with absolute seriousness. "get your attention."

"by ruining my homework?"

"i never claimed it was a perfect plan." his thumb brushes over your wedding band. "but it worked eventually, didn't it? sixth year, hogsmeade weekend, you finally said yes."

"only because you promised to help me with transfiguration," you remind him.

"details," he waves dismissively. "the point is, you fell for my charm in the end."

something warm unfurls in your chest. "i fell for a lot more than that."

"i'm drunk on love," he says, so earnestly that you can't even tease him for it.

"do you remember that awful yogurt shop?" you ask, changing the subject before you start crying and ruin your makeup. "the one i worked at during summers?"

james groans. "merlin, that place. what was it called? something ridiculous."

"frosty's fantastical frozen yogurt fantasies," you recite. "sixteen flavors and thirty toppings."

"and one very fit employee who wouldn't give me the time of day," james adds.

you roll your eyes. "because you came in every day for two weeks straight and ordered the most complicated combinations possible."

"i was supporting your place of employment!"

"you were being a pest," you correct. "and leaving outrageous tips."

james doesn't deny it. "got your attention though, didn't i?"

"you did," you admit. "but not in the way you hoped. i thought you were this privileged pureblood who'd never worked a day in his life, slumming it in a muggle shop for kicks."

"ouch," james winces. "that bad?"

"worse," you assure him. "i had a whole speech prepared about wealth inequality and the exploitation of service workers."

"what changed your mind?"

you think back to that summer, to james potter in a teal t-shirt leaning against the counter and asking for kiwi-strawberry yogurt with every topping they had. "you came in one day when it was pouring rain. i was the only one working, and this group of kids came in—soaking wet, no money. you bought them all yogurt, but you made it seem like the shop was running a special. so they wouldn't feel like charity cases."

james looks surprised. "you saw that?"

"hard to miss," you say softly. "especially when you left without even ordering anything for yourself. just paid for them and left."

he shrugs, embarrassed. "wasn't a big deal."

"it was to me." you lean in, kiss him softly. "that's when i started to think maybe james potter wasn't so bad after all."

"high praise," he murmurs against your lips.

"don't let it go to your head," you whisper back, but it's too late—it already has. sixteen years old and his ego had been big enough to rival the giant squid.

a burst of laughter erupts from the tent, followed by the unmistakable sound of sirius black's barking laugh.

"we should get back," you say, though you're reluctant to break this moment. "before sirius sends out a search party."

"let him search," james says, pulling you closer. "i'm not done with you yet."

his kisses are familiar now, mapped over years of wanting and having and loving. but they still make your heart race, still make your magic hum beneath your skin.

"i love you," you murmur against his mouth. "even if you are an insufferable prat sometimes."

"i love you too," he says, serious now. "even when you steal the covers and leave your tea bags in the sink."

before you can respond, a voice calls from the tent.

"prongs! get your tongue out of her mouth and get back in here! it's time for speeches!"

james pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. "duty calls."

"who thought it was a good idea to let sirius give a speech?" you groan.

"probably the same person who thought it was a good idea to let him be best man," james replies. "oh wait, that was me."

you stand, smoothing down your dress. james rises beside you, offers his arm with an exaggerated bow.

"shall we, my love?"

"we shall," you say, taking his arm. "but if sirius mentions the time he got caught us the restricted section, i'm hexing both of you."

james laughs, the sound bright in the summer darkness. "deal."

when you re-enter the tent, you find that someone—almost certainly sirius—has transfigured the center of the dance floor into a small stage. there's a microphone stand that looks suspiciously like it was stolen from a muggle karaoke bar, and fairy lights have been arranged to create a spotlight effect.

sirius himself is standing center stage, his long hair pulled back into a messy bun, glass of firewhiskey in hand. he's shed his formal jacket sometime in the past hour, shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos that wind around his forearms. he looks like a rock star who wandered into a wedding by mistake.

"ah, there they are!" he announces as you and james approach. "our guests of honor, finally decided to join their own party. ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, please welcome mr. and... well, not mrs., because our bride is a modern witch who kept her name, but you get the idea!"

there's applause and cheering as james leads you to your seats at the head table. you notice remus rolling his eyes fondly at sirius's antics, though there's an unmistakable flush to his cheeks as he watches sirius command the room.

"now," sirius continues once you're settled, "as best man, it is my solemn duty to embarrass the groom as thoroughly as possible while still being invited to future family gatherings. so let me tell you all about james fleamont potter, the boy who spent seven years chasing after the same girl..."

you glance at james, who has the grace to look slightly embarrassed but mostly proud.

"for those who weren't there," sirius says, "let me paint you a picture. hogwarts, 1971. a skinny kid with glasses too big for his face and hair that defied multiple gravitational laws sees this girl—" he gestures to you "—getting sorted into ravenclaw. and do you know what this idiot whispers to me?"

the crowd murmurs curiously.

"he says, and i quote, 'i'm going to marry her someday.' first day, mind you. hadn't even spoken to her yet."

there are awws and chuckles throughout the tent. you turn to james with raised eyebrows.

"did you really say that?" you whisper.

james shrugs, looking sheepish. "more or less."

"more or less nothing," sirius interjects, his hearing apparently supernaturally good when it comes to potential embarrassment. "those were your exact words, prongs. followed by 'don't tell her i said that,' which, well... sorry mate, but the statute of limitations on that promise has expired."

more laughter. sirius takes a dramatic sip of his drink.

"for the next five years," he continues, "we all had to endure james's endless pining. and when i say endless, i mean endless. 'do you think she noticed me in class today?' 'should i try to sit near her at dinner?' 'does she hate me or just strongly dislike me?'"

remus stands up then, joining sirius on the small stage. "to be fair," he says into the microphone, "some of his concerns were valid. she did hate him for a while."

you can't help but laugh, because it's true. you'd thought james potter was an arrogant toerag for most of your early hogwarts years.

"i didn't hate him," you call out. "i just thought he was incredibly annoying."

"same difference to a fifteen-year-old boy," remus points out, earning another round of laughter.

sirius slings an arm around remus's shoulders. "moony here was actually the one who finally knocked some sense into james. told him that maybe, just maybe, hexing snape and showing off on the quidditch pitch wasn't the way to a girl's heart."

"shocking concept," remus deadpans.

"revolutionary," sirius agrees. "and yet, somehow, when james finally stopped being a complete prat and started being just a partial prat, something magical happened."

"she agreed to go to hogsmeade with him," remus finishes.

"one date," sirius holds up a finger. "that's all it took. one date, and james came back to the dormitory looking like he'd been confunded. flopped on his bed and just stared at the ceiling for three hours straight. when peter asked how it went, all he could say was 'i'm so fucked.'"

peter, sitting at a nearby table, raises his glass in confirmation. "true story," he calls.

james buries his face in his hands, but you can see him smiling through his fingers.

"and then," sirius continues, eyes gleaming with mischief, "our dear james here decided the best way to impress our lovely bride was to transfigure the great hall ceiling to spell out her name in stars. unfortunately, his spelling was atrocious, and the entire school was treated to—"

"alright, that's enough," james interrupts, standing up. there's laughter rippling through the tent, faces bright with amusement and alcohol. "i think we've all heard quite enough about my teenage idiocy."

"but i haven't gotten to the part about the restricted section yet," sirius protests, winking at you.

you groan, burying your face in your hands as james reaches for his wand with mock threat.

"moving on," sirius says quickly, raising his glass. "in all seriousness—yes, i can be serious occasionally, thank you very much—i've never seen two people more perfectly suited. james, mate, you're my brother in everything but blood, and watching you find someone who loves all of you—even the annoying bits—has been the greatest gift."

james settles back down beside you, his hand finding yours under the table.

"and you," sirius continues, turning to you. "you've not only put up with this idiot, but you've made him better. happier. you've become family to all of us. so here's to both of you, to love that makes sense even when nothing else does, and to whatever invisible thread of fate brought you together. cheers!"

"cheers!" echoes through the tent as everyone raises their glasses.

you turn to james, finding him already looking at you with that soft expression that makes your stomach flip. "did you write that for him?" you whisper.

"didn't have to," james murmurs back. "he means every word."

sirius hands the microphone to remus, who steps forward as sirius steps back, though not before giving remus's hand a squeeze that doesn't escape your notice.

"i'm not quite as good at speechmaking as sirius," remus begins, his voice soft but carrying. "but i've had the unique privilege of watching this relationship unfold from the beginning."

you smile encouragingly at him. quiet, steady remus has always been the one you confided in when james was driving you mad.

"james has been my friend since our first night at hogwarts, when he noticed i was too nervous to sleep and stayed up all night playing exploding snap with me instead." remus's voice holds a note of fond remembrance. "he's loyal to a fault, stubborn as a hippogriff, and has never once made me feel like less because of my... health issues."

there's a subtle shift in the room. only those closest to remus know about his lycanthropy, but everyone respects the discretion.

"what many people don't know," remus continues, "is that our brightest bride here figured out my secret in second year. and instead of running away or telling everyone, she started leaving chocolate on my bed after particularly rough... illnesses."

you feel james's surprised gaze on you. "you never told me that," he whispers.

"wasn't my secret to tell," you whisper back.

"so when james finally wore her down in sixth year," remus says with a small smile, "i wasn't surprised at all. because she's just as kind, just as loyal, and just as stubbornly good as he is. they're a matched set. never seen anyone fall so hard, so fast," he says, smiling. "and never been more glad to be proven wrong when i told him he didn't stand a chance."

he raises his glass. "to james and his wife, who make me believe that even in the darkest times, there's light to be found if you know where to look."

the toast is met with a quieter, more reverent raising of glasses. james squeezes your hand under the table.

lily steps up next, her red hair catching the fairy lights like fire.

"i've known the bride since we were sat in the train to hogwarts together," she begins. "terrified eleven-year-olds pretending we weren't. we became friends bonding over how annoying we found a certain messy-haired boy."

james makes an indignant noise that makes everyone laugh.

lily's speech makes you cry, recounting your friendship from hogwarts days through the war, through heartbreak and triumph. "you told me once you'd never fall for james potter," she reminds you. "said he was too arrogant, too sure of himself."

"he was!" you protest, laughing through tears.

"he still is," lily agrees. "but you love him anyway, and that's what matters."

she talks about late nights in either of your girls' dormitory, about secrets shared and dreams confessed. about the day you came to her dorm from your first date with james, torn between annoyance and attraction. "you said, and i'll never forget this, 'the worst thing about james potter is that he's somehow exactly who i thought he was and nothing like i expected all at once.'"

you'd forgotten that, but hearing lily say it brings the memory rushing back—sitting cross-legged on her bed, confused by how much you'd enjoyed yourself with someone you'd spent years dismissing.

"i asked if you were going to see him again," lily continues, "and you said 'merlin help me, but i think i am.' and here we are, all these years later, and i couldn't be happier to be proven right."

she raises her glass. "to my best friend and the boy who turned out to be worthy of her after all. may your lives together be as full of surprise and wonder as that first date."

peter stands next, visibly nervous but determined. his speech starts haltingly, but gains confidence as he goes.

"i'm not good with words like the others," he admits. "but james has been my friend when a lot of people wouldn't have bothered. he stood up for me, included me, made me feel like i belonged."

he turns to you. "and you never made me feel like i was just tagging along with them. you helped me with my charms homework and never made me feel stupid for asking questions."

his voice grows stronger. "i remember when james came back from asking you to marry him. he looked shell-shocked, like he couldn't believe you'd said yes. sat down on the sofa and just stared at nothing for ten minutes straight. then he looked at us and said 'she's going to be my wife,' like he'd just won the quidditch world cup."

there's a ripple of laughter, and peter smiles, more confident now.

"what i'm trying to say is, you two make sense together. you're both kind to people who don't always deserve it. you both see the best in others. and you both fight for what's right, even when it's hard." his voice wavers slightly. "in dark times, that means everything."

peter's speech is brief, nervous, but sincere. he talks about james's loyalty, about how you've brought out the best in him. "to the happiest couple i know," he finishes, raising his glass.

after the speeches, sirius claps his hands together. "right, enough of the emotional stuff! time for some games!"

you glance at james. "games?" you mouth.

he shrugs, looking equally surprised.

"first up," sirius announces, "the newlywed game! let's see how well these two actually know each other, shall we?"

before you can protest, sirius has conjured two chairs back-to-back in the center of the stage and is beckoning you and james forward.

"come on, lovebirds. don't be shy."

james stands, offering you his hand with a laugh. "shall we show them how it's done?"

with a resigned sigh that can't quite hide your amusement, you follow him to the stage. sirius separates you, sitting you in one chair with your back to james in the other.

"now," sirius says, handing each of you a small chalkboard and chalk, "i'll ask a question, and you both write down your answers. no peeking!"

marlene whoops from the crowd. "make them good questions, black!"

"when and where was your first kiss?" sirius asks.

you smile, writing quickly on your chalkboard. when sirius calls time, you hold up your answer: "astronomy tower, sixth year, after gryffindor beat slytherin."

james's board reads exactly the same, with the addition of "she kissed me first."

"that is not true!" you protest, turning to glare at him. "you kissed me!"

"i was going to," james defends, "but you got impatient and grabbed my tie."

the crowd roars with laughter as you feel your cheeks flush. "that's... that's not how i remember it."

"really?" sirius interjects. "because that's exactly how james described it to us afterward. said it was the best moment of his life."

you turn back to james, who's grinning sheepishly. "i may have embellished slightly when telling the lads. but you did grab my tie."

"moving on," sirius says gleefully. "who said 'i love you' first?"

this time, both your boards read "james," no hesitation.

"after the full moon in march," james's board elaborates. "when you brought hot chocolate to the shack for all of us."

you remember that night—the worry as you waited for the boys to emerge from the forbidden forest, the relief when they appeared, battered but intact. james had pulled you aside, eyes intense, and whispered those three words against your hair.

"correct!" sirius declares. "though disgustingly sappy. next question: what is your partner's most annoying habit?"

you write quickly, trying not to laugh. when sirius calls time, your board reads: "leaves his quidditch gear everywhere, even after i've asked him 500 times to put it away."

james's board reads: "talks during quidditch matches on the wireless."

"i do not!" you protest.

"you absolutely do," james counters. "especially during puddlemere games. 'why would he try that play?' 'the keeper should have seen that coming!' 'merlin's beard, that ref needs glasses!'"

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. he's not wrong.

"i stand by all my commentary," you say instead. "that ref did need glasses."

the game continues, questions ranging from "favorite dessert" (treacle tart for james, chocolate gateau for you, both answered correctly) to "most embarrassing moment".

by the end, you're both laughing so hard you can barely write, and the crowd is thoroughly entertained.

"final question," sirius announces. "when did you know you were in love?"

the tent grows quieter. you bite your lip, thinking, then write your answer carefully. when time is called, sirius has you read yours first.

"when he stood up to his own aunts and uncles about blood purity at christmas dinner, seventh year," you read. "he didn't know i could hear from the hallway. he said he'd rather be disowned than pretend to agree with such backwards thinking. that's when i knew it wasn't just attraction or affection. it was love."

there's a soft murmur through the crowd. james's parents, fleamont and euphemia, exchange proud looks from their table near the front.

"james?" sirius prompts, his voice gentler now.

james clears his throat. "first day of first year," he reads. "when she helped mary macdonald find her way to potions after a slytherin prefect deliberately gave her wrong directions. she was late to her own class to make sure mary got where she needed to go."

you stare at him, speechless. "that's... that's not possible. you didn't even know me then."

"i noticed you," james says simply. "i always noticed you."

there's an "aww" from the crowd that would normally make you roll your eyes, but you're too busy trying not to cry.

"and on that disgustingly sweet note," sirius declares, "i think the newlyweds win their own game! let's give them a round of applause!"

as the applause dies down, sirius changes tack. "now, who's ready for some real fun? it's time for magical musical chairs!"

what follows is possibly the most competitive game of musical chairs ever played, with enchanted chairs that occasionally skitter away from players trying to sit in them. frank longbottom ends up sprawled on the floor when his chair darts left at the last second. alice retaliates by casting a sticking charm on the next chair she approaches, leading to protests of cheating that sirius, as self-appointed referee, promptly ignores.

"there are no rules in love and magical musical chairs!" he declares, twirling his wand to restart the music.

to everyone's surprise, it's remus who emerges victorious, having quietly but effectively outmaneuvered everyone else. when the final chair tries to dart away, he simply casts a gentle freezing charm—not on the chair, but on the floor beneath it, causing the chair to slip and slide right back to him.

"that's my moony," sirius says proudly, slinging an arm around remus's shoulders as he awards him a conjured trophy that sings "we are the champions" when touched.

next comes a game of "pass the potion," where party guests form a circle and pass a mysterious (but harmless) potion around while music plays. when the music stops, whoever is holding the potion must take a sip—resulting in temporary effects ranging from speaking in rhymes (peter, much to his dismay) to sprouting flowers from their ears (minerva mcgonagall, who bears this indignity with remarkable grace).

james gets caught with the potion and ends up with blue hair for thirty minutes, which you assure him brings out his eyes. lily turns briefly invisible except for her floating head, causing widespread alarm until sirius assures everyone the effect is temporary. "probably," he adds under his breath, earning a smack from remus.

the night wears on, the party growing more raucous as inhibitions lower and the music gets louder. you find yourself passed from dance partner to dance partner—twirling with frank, doing an awkward shuffle with peter, being dramatically dipped by sirius while remus shakes his head fondly.

finally, marlene announces it's time for the bouquet toss. "gather round, all you single witches and wizards! let's see who's next down the aisle!"

you stand with your back to the crowd, bouquet of enchanted lilies and forget-me-nots in hand. with a count of three, you toss it over your shoulder.

there's a commotion, and when you turn, you see sirius standing there, bouquet in hand, looking both triumphant and mortified.

"i didn't even mean to catch it!" he protests. "it flew right at me!"

remus is doubled over laughing beside him. "the flowers have spoken, padfoot," he manages between gasps. "better start planning your outfit."

sirius's face cycles through several emotions in rapid succession before settling on amused resignation. "well," he says, "if i must." and then, to everyone's surprise, he drops to one knee in front of remus, bouquet extended dramatically. "moony, light of my life, terror of my full moons, would you do me the honor of making me the second-happiest man at this wedding?"

the tent goes silent. remus stares down at sirius, mouth agape. for a horrible moment, you think sirius has miscalculated, made a joke that's backfired terribly.

but then remus starts to laugh, a full-body laugh that lights up his entire face. "you absolute idiot," he says fondly. "get up."

sirius stays where he is, bouquet still extended. "is that a yes?"

"no, it's not a yes, because that wasn't a real proposal, and i am not accepting a marriage proposal at someone else's wedding, where you're proposing with someone else's bouquet, while half-drunk on firewhiskey," remus says reasonably.

"so it's a 'not yet'?" sirius clarifies, still kneeling.

remus rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "it's a 'ask me properly, when we're alone, preferably when you're sober, and then we'll talk'."

sirius beams, bounding to his feet. "he said we'll talk!" he announces to the crowd. "that's practically a yes from moony!"

the tension breaks, the room erupting in laughter and cheers. sirius sweeps remus into a dramatic kiss that has remus pushing him away, face flushed but smiling.

"sorry about that," remus murmurs as he passes you later. "didn't mean to steal your thunder."

"are you kidding?" you reply. "that was the highlight of the night."

when the party starts to wind down, well after midnight, james finds you chatting with lily and marlene. his hair is even messier than usual, his tie long since abandoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. he looks pleasantly disheveled and entirely too handsome for his own good.

"may i steal my wife for a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

"you may," lily says before you can answer. "we were just leaving to get more drinks anyway."

marlene winks at you as they depart. "don't do anything i wouldn't do."

"that leaves a lot of room for interpretation," you call after her.

james laughs, pulling you to your feet and into his arms. the music has slowed, most guests either departed or engaged in quiet conversations around the edges of the tent. sirius and remus are dancing nearby, foreheads pressed together, talking too softly for anyone else to hear.

"having fun?" james asks, his hand warm on your waist.

"more than i expected," you admit. "though i'm still not sure why we let sirius plan the games portion of the evening."

"because we love him, and he threatened to bring a real-life nundu as his plus-one if we didn't."

you laugh, resting your head on james's shoulder. "he and remus, huh? finally?"

"finally," james agrees. "only took them, what, ten years of pining? amateurs. i had my shit together much faster."

"yes, seven years is very efficient,"

james's hand traces up and down your spine. "thank you," he says after a moment.

"for what?"

"for saying yes. in our kitchen. for giving me a chance all those years ago. for loving me even when i make it difficult."

"you do make it very difficult sometimes," you tease, but your voice catches.

"i know." he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. "but i promise to spend the rest of my life making it worth it."

"it already is," you tell him. "worth it."

you dance in silence for a while, lost in the music and the moment. james's heartbeat steady under your cheek.

"do you believe in fate?" he asks suddenly.

you consider the question. "i don't know. maybe."

"i never used to," he says. "thought it was all rubbish, divination and destiny and all that. but then..."

"then?"

"then i met you. properly talked to you, that day in sixth year when you hexed macnair for bullying that second year. and you looked at me like maybe, just maybe, i wasn't the last person you wanted to see."

you smile at the memory. "you actually stood up for me when slughorn came around the corner."

"of course i did," james says, like there was never any other option. "you were right to hex him. besides, i'd been waiting years for you to look at me with anything other than annoyance."

"but there you were," james continues. "and somehow, out of all the students at hogwarts, we ended up in the same house, partners in transfiguration in sixth year, falling in love despite your best efforts to resist me." he grins. "what are the odds?"

"your persistence wore me down," you quip, but there's no bite to it.

"my irresistible charm you mean," he corrects.

"against all odds," you agree, ignoring his smug look.

"exactly." his fingers trace patterns on your back. "so maybe there is something to it. fate. destiny. some invisible string tying certain souls together across time."

"james potter, secret romantic," you murmur. "who would have thought?"

"only for you," he says. "only ever for you."

the music shifts to another song, slower, more intimate. james draws you impossibly closer.

"happy?" he asks, his breath warm against your hair.

you think about the journey that brought you here. from first year when james potter first noticed you, to a park bench years later, to that pivotal moment in sixth year when everything changed. through a war, through loss and triumph, through everyday moments that built a life.

to a kitchen proposal on new year's day.

the memory washes over you, so vivid you can almost taste the lingering champagne from the night before.

it had been a simple morning. both of you nursing mild hangovers, you in his quidditch jersey that hung to your thighs, him in pajama bottoms with snitches zooming across the fabric. sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows as you made hangover potions.

you'd been reaching for mugs when you turned and found him on the floor.

not on one knee, but two. both knees pressed to the cold tile, looking up at you with those hazel eyes that had always seen straight through to your soul. his hands had reached for you, circled your waist, pulled you close until his face pressed against your stomach.

"james?" your voice had been barely a whisper.

he'd tilted his head back, chin resting against your belly, eyes locked on yours. his hands trembled slightly against your waist.

"i'm not asking," he'd said, voice raw and honest in a way that made your heart stutter. "i'm begging. please be mine forever. please marry me. i've loved you since i was eleven years old. i've wanted this—wanted you—for so long i can't remember what it was like not to love you."

his arms had tightened around you, his face pressing into your stomach again before looking back up. "please," he whispered. "i'll get you a bigger ring if you want, plan a better proposal, anything—just please say yes."

the ring box had been balanced on his thigh, forgotten in his desperation. you'd reached down, touched his face, felt the slight stubble under your palm.

"yes," you'd said, voice breaking. "of course yes."

he'd buried his face against you then, shoulders shaking with emotion, before standing and crushing you to him, kissing you like he was drowning and you were air.

that had been the best day of your life.

until today.

"beyond happy," you answer truthfully. "you?"

james potter smiles down at you, that special smile that belongs only to you, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart stop.

"complete," he says simply.

and under the stars, invisible threads of fate winding around you both, you dance until the party ends and the rest of your life begins.

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wisteria-lodge · 3 months ago

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I know the Doylist answer for Neville's parents being at St. Mungos is because JKR wanted to show what had happened to them and didn't think Neville would just bring it up like he does in the movies, but what would the Watsonian answer be for why they are kept in St. Mungo's instead of at the Longbottom house? At this point it seems to be there is no hope for them getting better, so why keep them there? I don't think something like upsetting Neville would be enough for Augusta to not let them stay.

That's a really good question. And I think my Watsonian answer... is that it's not too upsetting for Neville, it's too upsetting for Augusta.

Like, here's how they both respond to Alice giving Neville a bubblegum wrapper:

“Very nice, dear,” said Neville’s grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder. But Neville said quietly, “Thanks Mum.”

Like... it's Augusta who's uncomfortable with this interaction, right? Neville seems fine. It's also Augusta who prompts Neville to throw the wrapper out after they leave the room.

In general, I just don't think Augusta is able to process what happened to her son, at all. It seems like she's coping (...sort of...) by telling herself that Neville *is* Frank, and punishing him whenever something challenges that narrative. She gives Neville Frank's wand to use - which massively sabotages his ability to do magic, to the degree that Neville calls himself "almost a squib." The Longbottoms have money too, this isn't a Weasley cost-cutting situation.

Augusta also tries to get Neville to take NEWT Transfiguration (even though he doesn't qualify), calling NEWT Charms a "soft option" and apparently not even mentioning his best subject, Herbology. Like he can't take Transfiguration, and she's still insisting that he sign up. It's sounding like willful delusion at this point.

This is what she says to Harry, Ron and Hermione the first time she meets them:

"He’s a good boy,” she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, “but he hasn’t got his father’s talent, I’m afraid to say . . .”

Earlier in the same book Neville mentions that

"Gran’s always telling Professor Marchbanks [the NEWT proctor] I’m not as good as my dad."

McGonagall tells Augusta that she should be "proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have." Like has Augusta Longbottom brought this up with EVERY person she has ever met?

So that's my analysis. Augusta doesn't want Neville to be successful in school, she wants him to be Frank, and if he is successful in a way that Frank wasn't, then that's also a failure in her eyes. And having Frank at home would force her to confront the situation in a way she just isn't able to handle.

#hp #neville longbottom #augusta longbottom #frank long bottom #watsonian analysis

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gullyatlas · 1 year ago

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I realized I never posted my son tier list so Imma place it here:

AT NUMBER ONE (S Tier, Best Son For Life)

We got Reggie. God I love him. He’s tragic. He’s iconic. He went through so much shit and then fucking died. He didn’t deserve it. And to all of you who claim he is evil because he’s a death eater, he was raised in a cult leave him aloneeee.

AT NUMBER TWO (A Tier, I Would Hit A Man With A Car For Him)

We already know but BARTYYY. OMG SLAY. YOU EAT THAT SHIT UP. YOU MAKE YOUR POOR DECISIONS POOKIE. ME TOO MAN.

AT NUMBER THREE? (lies) (B Tier, Hurt Him And I Cry)

We Got A Duo Here, SIRIUS AND REMUS. I can never separate them. Not even on here. I love them both equally for different reasons. Sirius got that tragic backstory and crackass attitude, while Remus has the calm demeanor and depressing past, present, and future. If they were morally gray they’d be at my top because I have a character type. Literally do not care.

AT NUMBERS FOUR AND FIVE (C Tier, Would Let Them Call Me “Dad” At 2am To Pick Them Up From Their “Friends” House)

We have two again but that’s because James and Evan switch so much for me. Sometimes I like James more, sometimes I like Evan more. Both are dicks in the best ways and didn’t deserve the endings they got so, sue me.

HONORABLE MENTIONS (D Tier, Would Call Them “My Son” But They Call Me “Dad” And I’d Hit Them)

1.) Peter. I get it, he genuinely chose what he chose and stood by it. He was truly just insecure and felt that the other three didn’t love him as much because he got in his own head too much. I truly think that if he had been shown just a bit more love from the group he would have been the Peter they thought they had.

2.) Frank. I just don’t know enough about this man. Like, his story is tragic, but he truly is just James in another font. And if I already have one, I don’t need a second. I’m sorry Frank, show me how to love you and I will.

And finally, I will say this. If any of these motherfuckers and I met in real life, ESPECIALLY BARTY REG AND EVAN, I’d fucking kick them down the stairs. Reg is an insufferable ass (affectionate), Barty is…. Exactly as my friend put it, and Evan just gives off private school energy. Sirius would give me a headache, guaranteed. Remus and I would just be associates or something. James is a show-off arrogant dick and I would stab him as a warning. I hate Snape and agreeing with him, but that is one thing that is just blatant fact so.

My best friend read me to filth this week and I’ve never been prouder of her.

We were discussing our favorite characters from Harry Potter and so I brought up my son tier list. When I got to Barty as my #2, she instantly stopped me and was like “Barty? As in Barty Crouch Jr.” Of course I’m like “wait I can explain,” but she stops me and just goes “No need. You like him because he’s evil. Because he makes bad choices, regrets them, and then makes those choices again every time. You like him because he is caught in an endless loop of poor decision making and then regretting it so much that he does it again.”

I was speechless. I’m so proud of her.

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tedwardremus · 27 days ago

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Oh i agree with you with other aurors calling them nepotism babies 😂 but i think the older ones have soft spot for neville even thought they didnt get to see him as baby but “he is alice and frank’s kid, that’s our nephew”

Neville swallowed hard, his hand hovering on the door to the Auror Office.

He hadn’t thought twice when Mr. Shacklebolt—no, Minister Shacklebolt—invited him to join the Aurors alongside Ron and Harry, waiving the usual test scores and three years of training. He’d accepted immediately. Eager to prove himself. To finish what they'd started. To carry on his family’s legacy. To make his Gran proud.

And now, standing at the threshold of what felt like his destiny—one he had only ever dared to voice to Trevor—he was suddenly unsure of everything. Did he deserve to wear Auror robes? Was he skilled enough? Smart enough? Brave enough?

He had half a mind to turn around and hide in his grandfather’s old greenhouse when a familiar voice called out behind him.

“Neville! Great, you're here!”

“Hey, Ron,” Neville said, managing a small smile as Ron clapped him on the back. Harry stood beside him, stoic and straight-backed as always, giving Neville a nod.

Neville squared his shoulders, trying to mimic Harry’s confidence.

“Let’s get in there before they realize what a mistake they made, offering a bunch of Hogwarts dropouts full-time jobs,” Ron said cheerfully, pushing open the door.

“Technically, I didn’t drop out,” Neville said. “I can still take my exams this summer with everyone else in our year.”

Ron gave him a baffled look. “Why would you do a mad thing like that?”

Before Neville could answer, they stepped up to the front desk where an elderly witch sat behind a stack of paperwork.

Are you three lost?” the witch behind the desk asked, arching one penciled brow as she looked up from a stack of parchments.

“No,” Harry said with calm certainty. “We’re here to meet with Robards. It’s our first day. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom.”

At the mention of Neville’s name, the woman froze. Her gaze flicked sharply to him, narrowing slightly, as though trying to place a face she hadn't seen in years. Then her eyes widened.

“Longbottom?” she repeated, almost breathless. Her eyes scanned his features, flicking from his jawline to his nose to the set of his eyes, as though searching for echoes of someone she once knew.

Neville shifted his weight and offered a small, uncertain smile. “Er… yeah. That’s me.”

Without taking her eyes off him, she turned in her chair and called over her shoulder. “Margaret! Margaret, get over here! You won’t believe this!”

Another elderly witch poked her head out from a side office, half-spectacles perched on the edge of her nose. “Yes, Eunice? What is it now?”

“Guess who this is!” Eunice said, gesturing grandly toward Neville.

Margaret peered at him, blinking. “Haven’t the foggiest.”

“Neville Longbottom! Alice and Frank’s boy!”

Margaret gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “No! Merlin’s beard… He’s so big!” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Little baby Neville—oh my goodness, look at you! You’re the spitting image of your dad when he first walked through those doors. Where’s Alfred? He has to see this.”

And then she turned, cupping her hands to her mouth and calling down the corridor with surprising strength, “Alfred! Get out here! Alice’s boy is here! Come quick!”

In what felt like a matter of seconds, people began emerging from doorways, their conversations halting as they caught wind of what was happening. A group of middle-aged Aurors came striding over, curiosity quickly turning into wonder. Someone whispered, “Frank’s son?” and then the murmurs spread like wildfire.

Neville found himself in the middle of a growing circle of people—men and women, many with graying hair and worn expressions softened by emotion. They came forward one by one, shaking his hand, patting his shoulder, nodding with solemn reverence. He could hear snatches of words—

“Your mum saved my life in '77—duel in Knockturn Alley—never got to thank her.”

“Frank trained me when I was a recruit. Best duelist I ever saw.”

“Thought I’d never see the day...”

For a moment, Neville didn’t know what to do with his hands or his face. He could only blink and nod, his throat thick as he shook hands with teary-eyed strangers.

Then Eunice stepped forward again, her voice warm as she took his hand between both of hers. “It truly is an honor,” she said. “Don’t you worry—we’ll take good care of you. Alice and Frank’s boy, here in the office. It’s a miracle.” She smiled up at him, eyes glistening. “Welcome home, Neville.”

#harry potter fanfiction #neville longbottom

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theemporium · 2 years ago

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Hi!!!

i was wondering if you could do Grumpy!JamesPotter x Sunshine!reader but with a soft spot for her and maybe he is like defending her in a situation or something!! xx

You’re write is amazing!!

thank you for requesting!🖤

By some grace that nobody could understand, James Potter had a soft spot for only one person and it was you.

Somehow, you—sunshine personified, bubbly and loved by most, if not all—had wiggled your way into the bespectacled boy’s heart and the whole student body knew you had him wrapped around your finger, even if you weren’t totally aware of the power you held over him.

There had been countless occasions where James had stepped up when someone was treating you wrong. You were far too kind to say something but James wasn’t. Whether it was another student or a friend or a professor, he was ready to put the person in their place.

He hated watching you get walked all over and this was no different.

The only difference was that he didn’t know it had been happening for a few weeks. You had never even mentioned to him that you had been having some difficulties with your potions partner, it had to come from Frank Longbottom who had told his friend after he had seen you wipe away some tears after class the day before.

Nobody hurts his girl. Absolutely nobody.

Especially not the likes of some Ravenclaw boy he didn’t care to know the name of (though Frank had told him his name was Henry).

“Jamie?”

His head snapped up when he watched you walk down the corridor towards him, the depths of the dungeons seeping through the layers of clothing he was wearing. His lips twitched as you approached him, opening his arms for the hug he knew you were going to give him as a greeting—like you always do.

“Hey, sunshine,” he murmured as he wrapped his thick arms around you, enjoying the way you nuzzled yourself against his chest.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him, but there was a smile on your face that told him you were happy to see him regardless.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having some issues in potions?” he asked, his brows furrowed slightly as he watched the way your face dropped a little.

“James, it’s really not that bad—”

“Don’t downplay your feelings,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not around me.”

“I can sort it myself,” you said to him with a shrug, failing to meet his gaze because you both knew it was a lie.

“You don’t have to sort it yourself,” James murmured as he took two fingers to gently nudge your face up to look at him. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“My hero,” you murmured with a shy smile.

James puffed his chest a little, enjoying the way you giggled. “You know it, sunshine.”

Despite your best efforts to make James promise he wouldn’t scare your potions partner too much, that was exactly what he did. He dropped a kiss on your temple and let you head into class whilst he waited for your partner to arrive.

The second he saw the slimy git, his fists were bunched up in the fabric of Henry’s shirt and his back was pressed against the stony wall as James got in his face.

“If you make her cry or even let her smile drop for one fucking second, I’m gonna end you,” James gritted through clenched teeth. “You hear me?”

Henry gulped and nodded his head.

“I better not hear you giving her any more problems,” he huffed before he chucked the boy to the side, watching as he scrambled to stay on his feet and keep his books from falling. “I have eyes everywhere. Don’t think I’m joking.”

Henry barely held back a whimper as he rushed into the class.

And James only bit back his grin, straightening his robes before he headed off to his next class, counting down the hours until he saw you again.

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deathnguts · 11 months ago

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Marauders era characters and they’re bi/gay awakenings except not all of them are the obvious answer

Sirius: Remus (starting off strong with an obvious answer, god damnit)

Remus: Professor Ferox (I know he isn’t a canon character but his first crush being a cool teacher makes so much sense to me)

James: Frank Longbottom (young James was concerned with two things, and that was quidditch and pranks. Frank Longbottom let them get away with pranks and was captain of the gryffindor quidditch team)

Peter: No one (he’s Aroace to me and simply learned to be annoyed at romantic attraction)

Lily: Pandora (no explanation, simply vibes)

Mary: Lily (no explanation, simply vibes)

Marlene: Mary (fell for her best friend, rookie mistake)

Dorcas: Marlene (fell for a girl who fell for her best friend, rookie mistake)

Pandora: Dorcas (I’ve never actually seen anyone ship them, and I’m not exactly doing that either, but I can see Dorcas being Pandora’a first girl crush out of respect for her as a witch and admiration of her beauty and their friendship)

Evan: Regulus (Barty is the obvious answer but I like rosewater a lot and it makes sense for them to be childhood friends, therefore give Evan time to like Regulus even before they went to hogwarts)

Barty: Regulus (Barty’s brain chemistry was rewired by his love for regulus, even if you choose to believe they’re not endgame. I choose to believe that tho. I’m biased. Fight me.)

Regulus: Remus (hear me out ok, I’ve mentioned this headcanon before but like Remus just has that cool ‘bad’ boy persona with his scars and how quiet he is, combined with how he’s an intellectual and he’s Regulus’ older brother’s friend… as a younger sibling he was cooked from the start)

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liliesmultiverse · 5 months ago

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does anyone else script that alice & frank weren’t tortured into their golden era drs or is that just me? because i never see anyone mentioning it. like i’ve seen people saying they’ve scripted out cedric’s death, fred’s death, that james & lily are alive but not once have i seen anyone mention scripting that the longbottom’s weren’t tortured to absolute insanity and i find it honestly so sad because neville is one of the sweetest people in the series and absolutely deserves being raised by loving & devoted parents :(

it’s seriously one of the first things i scripted into every one of my hp dr’s that takes place in the golden era 😤

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hollowed-theory-hall · 1 year ago

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The Riddle of Tom Riddle: Part 1/?

(Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7)

The Death Tool of Voldemort's Wars

So, I did say I'll make this post somewhere, so here it is.

When trying to make sense of Voldemort’s behavior in the books, I noticed that the two wars were actually very different. How they were waged, how many people died, and who was most targeted along with Voldemort's goals.

(Because I mentioned it, I'll just say Voldemort’s behavior in the book is really weird and somewhat contradictory, but I found a way to explain that. Consider this the second post on my way to analyze Voldemort after the Horcruxes one)

The Wizarding Population in the UK

(Edit: I have revisited this subject in a later post and concluded the distribution of ages is different than shown below. I still believe there are around 6,000 wizards in the UK though)

The first step to figuring out how bad the wars with Voldemort actually were is to know the size of the wizarding population in the UK. Numbers of deceased don't mean much without being able to calculate percentages.

If there are 40 students a year at Hogwarts in 1990s → 400 wizards and witches between ages 10-19

Account for fewer births during and right after the war with Grindelwald in the 1930s-1940s, and the war with Voldemort in the 1970s

Account for longer life acceptancy (Average of 130)

And we get an estimate of something like this:

With wizards being around 0.01% of the muggle population in any country.

The population in Britian in 1991 was 57,359,454, making the wizarding population 57,359*0.01% =~ 5,700

The population in Ireland in 1991 was 5.1 M, making the Irish wizarding population about 510.

So as a rough estimate, we'll say there were ~6,200 wizards and witches in the UK and Ireland together in 1991

Probably less though considering JKR killed most of Harry's grandparents' generation with Dragon Pox....

By the same logic above in the 1970s the Wizarding population in Britain and Ireland was ~5,600 + ~300 = ~5,900 wizards and witches.

So, now we have the estimated size of the population and we can gage how much damage these wars actually caused.

So, I may have compiled a list of all war casualties from both wars. I will not place the full details here (like the exact year each died), but I'll mention sides, who they were killed by, and any other information relevant to understanding the war's influence on wizarding society, and what we can learn from it about Voldemort's intentions.

For these lists:

(M) - muggle (MB) - muggleborn (PB) - pure-blood (HB) - half-blood (O) - other $ - Death Eater or affiliated ^ - Order of the Pheonix member or affiliated Italics - killed against Voldemort's orders

The First War: Surprisingly Targeted

Killed By Voldemort Personally:

~4 unnamed goblins (O)

Dorcas Meadowes (PB/HB)^

James Potter (PB)^

Lily Potter (MB)^

Killed by Death Eaters:

Mr. Bones (PB)^

Mrs. Bones (PB)^

Robert McGonagall (PB)

Marlene McKinnon (PB)^

~4 more unnamed McKinnons (PB)^

Mrs McGregor (M)

Douglas McGregor (M)

2 McGregor Children (M)

Caradoc Dearborn (PB/HB)^

Dean Thomas’ Father (PB)

Edgar Bones' Wife (PB)^

Edgar Bones (PB)^

~2 Edgar Bones' children (PB)^

Benji Fenwick (PB/HB)^

Frank Longbottom (PB)^ - Not dead, but counts

Alice Longbottom (PB)^ - Not dead, but counts

Fabian Prewett (PB)^

Gideon Prewett (PB)^

Killed by the Order of the Pheonix & Aurors:

Evan Rosier (PB)$

Wilkes (PB)$

+ 13 muggles killed by Peter Pettigrew on October 31st, 1981

+ Regulus Black who died in the cave with the Inferi

This lands us at 45 casualties (including the Longbottoms) for the first Wizarding War. Now, let's look more closely at the numbers.

Not counting the muggles and creatures other than wizards lands us at 24

24/5,900 =~ 0.40% of the wizarding population was killed in the first war.

And did you notice anything interesting about the names on the list? There is only 1 muggleborn and 1 muggle family, whose death wasn't even on Voldemort's orders. What does it tell us about the war?

Well, first off, Dumbledore's idea of morality and not using dark magic and lethal curses kind of sucks. This is hardly a war, it's a massacre. 19 Order members and their families die compared to 3 Death Eaters, one of which was killed by Voldemort's creations. Moody and Mr. Weasley aren't kidding when they say the first war was rough in the fifth book. It really was, but only for their side.

The innocent casualties of people not belonging to any side in this war stand at 19 (including the 13 muggles killed by Pettigrew), and 6 (not including Pettigrew).

It's just wild how Peter Pettigrew has the most kills in this war, more than Voldemort. And it tells you a lot about Voldemort's priorities.

His priorities clearly aren't to kill all muggleborns, we can see that much. So what are his priorities? What is he actually waging a war for if it's not to kill all muggleborns like all the characters tell us?

Well, I will post a full rundown of the timeline of the first war at some point, but for now, what we know is that Voldemort is targeting the Order of the Phoenix, who opposed him. And he is in general causing chaos for the Ministry of Magic.

We know that by 1981, Voldemort practically won, with the ministry having more spies of his than any other group. The ministry was made up of Death Eaters. But we don't know of any rules he passed in this time, or moves to legalize dark magic or outlaw muggleborns — nothing like that happened.

What did happen, was that Voldemort made a cave filled with Inferi and experimented with potions (he invented the potion of despair in the cave).

It seems, more than anything, the war was there to distract the ministry or weaken it, and less about accomplishing a specific political goal. And if he was after a specific political goal, then it isn't blood purity as he isn't rounding up muggleborns like in the second war.

The low death count overall (especially when compared to the second war) is because Voldemort is there. Voldemort does not approve of unnecessary death, even muggle one:

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face. Then the child turned and ran away. . . . Beneath the robe he fingered the hand of his wand. . . One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother. . . but unnecessary, quite unnecessary. . . .

(Deathly Hollows, page 295)

Voldemort himself does not like unnecessary death. He considers it and killing in rage below him at the end of the First Wizarding War. He doesn't do it himself and doesn't let his followers kill unnecessarily up until the night he kills the Potters.

What exactly Voldemort was trying to accomplish is a question I've pondered and have a few more posts about. But understanding he wasn't really after the death of all muggleborns and neither was he after control of Magical Britain, which is made very clear by the second war, is the first step to understanding him.

The Second War: Chaos Galore

Killed By Voldemort Personally:

Bertha Jorkins (PB)

Cedric Diggory (PB)

Bathilda Bagshot (PB)

Charity Burbage (PB/HB)

Alastor Moody (PB)^

Rufus Scrimgeour (PB)

German-speaking child #1 (M)

German-speaking child #2 (M)

German-speaking woman (M)

Mykew Gregorovitch (PN)

Gellert Grindelwald (HB)

Peter Pettigrew (PB/HB)$

2 Unidentified Death Eaters (PB/HB)$

Severus Snape (HB)$

Killed by Death Eaters:

Bodrick Bode (PB/HB)

Emmeline Vance (PB)^

Sirius Black (PB)^

Amalia Bones (PB)

Florean Fortesque (PB)

Mrs. Abbott (PB/HB)

Igor Karkaroff (PB)$

Montgomery (PB/HB)

4 Unidentified Muggles (M)

Gibbon (PB)$

Albus Dumbledore (HB)^

5 Unnamed muggles in Gaddley (M)

Gornuk (O)

Edward Tonks (MB)^

Dirk Cresswell (MB)

Dobby (O)

Lavender Brown (PB)^

Camelia (PB/HB)^

Vincent Crabbe (PN)$

Colin Creevey (MB)^

Remus Lupin (HB)^

Nymphadora Tonks (HB)^

Fred Weasley (PB)^

Killed by the Order of the Pheonix:

Bellatrix Lestrange (PB)$

Killed by Golden Trio:

Bogrod (O)

Tom Riddle (Voldemort) (HB)$

+ 42 more casualties for the Battle of Hogwarts.

What we see here is that this second war was much deadlier. The Battle of Hogwarts alone had more casualties than the entirety of the First War. Even if I'm generous and add 20 more dead to my estimate of the First War, it doesn't come anywhere close to the death tool of the Second War.

Now, I ask myself, why?

The Second War was much shorter, officially ongoing between May of 1996 and May of 1998 (2 years), with the First War officially waging from 1975 to October of 1981 (6 years). What was so different between the wars that caused this kind of escalation in the second one this quickly?

We see the Second War unfold, we watch how quickly the Ministry of Magic falls and the Death Eaters take over. They quickly make laws such as the Muggleborn Registry — things that didn't happen in the first war.

“Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard,” he replied. “That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred..."

(Deathly Hollows, page 182)

Lupin is talking about the Muggleborn Registry and compulsory attendance to Hogwarts — completely new things, never seen before in Britain. They weren't around the first go-around even if Voldemort had the same amount of control over the ministry (it being made up of his followers even in the 1970s). So, what changed? What's the difference?

I pondered this question, and I realized what the main difference is — Voldemort. He is different. His priorities are different.

In the second war, Voldemort doesn't show any care for the ministry, government, or unnecessary death the way he did in the First War. In the First War he limited his Death Eaters, focusing them on targeting only Order members, but in the Second War, not only did he let them loose, but he let himself loose as well.

And I'll prove just how unconcerned he is with Britain and the war during Deathly Hollows and Half-Blood Prince.

In Half-Blood Prince, when the Death Eaters break into Hogwarts to kill Dumbledore, arguably their biggest achievement in the war thus far, and where is their leader? Off, somewhere. Researching wands so he could kill Harry Potter.

And where is Lord Voldemort, leader of the Death Eaters when his followers take over the ministry and start passing the aforementioned rules? He's in Germany, tracking down the Elder Wand.

“That’s—that’s pretty, Dolores,” she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge’s blouse. “What?” snapped Umbridge, glancing down. “Oh yes—an old family heirloom,” she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. “The S stands for Selwyn. . . . I am related to the Selwyns. . . . Indeed, there are few pure blood families to whom I am not related. . . . A pity,”

(Deathly Hollows, page 225)

Voldemort is so unaware and un-present in Britain during the time he supposedly rules it, that Dolores Umbridge can strut around the ministry with the locket that is his Horcrux and holds a piece of his soul and is his Slytherin family heirloom and claim it to belong to the Selwyn family and to be hers. And she wasn't tortured horribly to death.

Yeah, Voldemort never stepped foot in the Ministry throughout Deathly Hollows. At least, not until he retrieved the elder Wand and was convinced he could kill Harry.

In the First War, Voldemort had intentions, unrelated to blood purity as they were, but intentions nonetheless. He was actually leading and had goals for the war. In the Second War, it looks like he gave up. Like he decided killing Harry Potter is the only important thing and he isn't even bothering with anything else and lets his Death Eaters do as they please.

Conclusions:

Voldemort didn't really plan to win the Second War, he didn't really care what happened to the Ministry, as long as he could kill Harry Potter whom he is quite obsessed with. Like, he's really weird about Harry Potter, and maybe I'll talk about it more in-depth, but he's obsessed with being the one to kill Harry with a wand of his own, to the point of ignoring literally everything else.

If you are going to fight an opponent that is trying to kill you, you should probably be just as willing to be lethal in turn or you'd end up massacred like the Order of the Phoenix from the 1970s....

#hp theory #hp thoughts #hp #harry potter theory #harry potter thoughts #harry potter #lord voldemort #tom marvolo riddle #hollowedtheory #overthinking #voldemort #voldemort analysis #wizarding world #first wizarding war #second wizarding war #the order of the phoenix #order of the phoenix #death eaters

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