Protego Pt 3 - Half
Posting Pt 3 of this mini series. hope you like it and do let me know what you think if you are so inclined. More fun to come with this era and group. All I’m posting today to let everyone enjoy. :)
“Full up.” A twiggy shaggy brown haired boy said. He'd slid between the open train car door. Ruining the plan both James and Sirius made. Bent on being the one to tussle their way to sharing the ride with those redheads. In front of their faces, both boys willing to sit on the floor if they had to, the glass windowed door was shut and locked sending them elsewhere. Along the way to actually trade names and see who the fellow loser belonged to.
Right around the cunning teen turned. Lips parted in a successful puff of air to help a grin form in greeting the twin girls. Both partly hidden behind the dark haired boy, that had moved to block them in the door scuffle. “Remus,” he spoke first to the other shaggy sandy haired boy nearest to the window the trio looked to in confusion. Hand extended, they began a brief clasp more than a shake. Each greeting the familiar face during the contact returned then dropped. Enabling the now named Remus to fix his baggy cardigan around himself to sit down.
“Junior,” the part of his name spoken had the instigator smirk. As it revealed Remus had only heard what the former was called by his father inside the Ministry.
“Glad to see a familiar face.” Next his hand was offered to the round glasses, corduroy and tweed clad boy on the other side of Remus. “Diggory, right?”
“Yes, Amos.” The bowl hair cut around this new boy's face shifted mid nod. Then stilled in a quizzical look at the taller boy, whose hand Amos released. “But your name isn’t Junior? Right?”
“Barty." Barty replied and right away turned his body to reach around Severus to offer his hand right to Jewels. “Crouch Jr. Pleasure to meet you.” Through the glass barrier behind him more slow passing teens stole their own glances inside the car. Many already had peered inside of on their way past, all eager to see what those before them had noticed and had to keep stealing partly obstructed looks back at once passed.
“Jewelia Evans,” the girl replied in an uncertain tone to the timid offer of her hand. Reluctant to take his hand as if he was a snarling dog, unable to take her eyes off his direct stare.
“Our dads work together in the Ministry, different fields, er, Remus Lupin and Amos Diggory.” Right away his eyes snapped to Lily at the pull of the hand out of his so Jewels could cling it to her belly, and blindly ensure it was intact still by means of her spare hand. “You are?” Again his eyes darted to Jewels and back again.
When Barty's eyes were off her Jewels looked to Remus in the flinch of a wave her way she returned. Not noticing the slip of her natural dead on purple eyes Amos fixated on their alluring green shade. Until they fell on his grinning self and became purple to Remus’ new green view.
“Lily Evans,” the sister said proudly, even from behind Severus. Smiling as she did so mid subtle stretch to straighten up her posture in doing so.
Off Jewels Barty's eyes snapped to Severus, still unmoved from his place as a wall blocking Lily whose hand was taken next. “Brother? Triplets are rare here.”
“Neighbor,” Severus answered flatly. Still staring directly in the shared brown eyed half curious half protective staring contest.
“Sevy,” Jewels softly uttered in a poke to her best friend’s arm that broke the stare as both looked her way.
“Eyes,” Lily sharply muttered. Bumping her body into her sister to force them both onto the seat to help hide the shift back to look identical to Lily. Avoiding once again being the one to stir up whispers about the pair. To stop the first try to call them freaks and ruin their chances to make friends here. Gaze fixed upon the floor Jewels sat. Lost to focus of her mind on every inch of her body to get control again after being startled into the reveal. A look of fear glint across her face in doing so. A look Remus felt stab at his chest from a fellow secret keeper.
“Severus Snape.” He drew focus of Barty and Amos back onto himself in declaring his name and tightening the grip on the hand still locked in Barty's. A move that had the other half of the newly introduced pair smirk back at him.
“There’s a fifth year,” calmly Remus spoke. Those now emerald eyes landed on him to the knock of his weathered shoe into her new polished pair, “can do that with his eyes.” the rest of the sentence spoken in a gesture of a finger to both of his own blue pair.
Awkward and curious a grin tugged onto Jewelia’s face to ask softly, “He can?”
Remus nodded, “Maybe you’ll be sorted to his house. I’ll point him out.”
Lily smiled, “Can’t wait to be sorted. Make new friends.” Settling better into her seat to make room for Jewelia she’d noticed was pinned into the corner of the booth and the wall in the hasty plop to sit down.
Severus broke the contact first and sighed in lowering himself down to sit beside the girl he loved. Still watching as Barty claimed his seat beside Amos, who had now righted his own clearly hand me down jacket around his sticky self. “Where do your parents work?” Barty again was looking right at Jewels, who tried not to blush at being the focus of this odd boy’s attention. As she’s usually be forgotten beside Lily back home. “Haven’t seen you about. Don’t sound from the North or anywhere near the isles.”
“Uh, Daddy works in Tax Law, Mummy is a Pet Groomer on the side.”
That had Barty narrow his eyes and Severus state the obvious, “Their parents are Muggles.”
And between them Barty looked and let out a disbelieving chuckle, “No, you can’t be serious.” Unable to believe one with such a magical and inherited allure affecting the attentions of so many could come from mere Muggles.
“That, is what our parents do.” Jewels said haltingly.
“The Prefect sent to speak with us said Muggle-Borns are quite common.” Lily argued to help break any focus off her sister who might let slip another reveal of her eyes to the staring boys.
“Barty be nice,” Remus interjected and had Barty look his way and scoff.
“I am being,” he looked back to Jewels saying, “I’m not insulting you. Just, caught me off guard.” And he looked to Severus asking, “Muggle-Born too?”
“My mother is a Witch.” Severus sighed and relented more, “Works in a book editing company. My father has many seasonal trades.”
“Where was your mother sorted?” Barty asked with a smile, “Mine were Slytherin and Gryffindor. Mum broke out her red and gold scarf today.” Adding a chuckle to how happy she seemed in the send off as the train began to let off a whistle and jerked from its stationary place to leave the platform.
“Slytherin.”
“Take it she’s not the Snape?” Barty asked with brow raised.
“Eileen Prince,” Severus answered and the boy grinned.
“Kicked my dad out of the dorm once, literally. Never let’s go of a reaction like that.” Over the sisters he looked again and spoke with the boys to his right next, “Where your parents after for you two?”
Remus answered flatly, “Anywhere but the forest.” And Barty chuckled to the turn of Remus’ eyes to the window to avoid thoughts on being sorted, and how he would keep his other side to himself. Amos spoke up on his own parents' hopes. Then Barty dove into sharing more on the houses for the girls and broke out stories he’d heard from older friends, relatives and his parents about the school. The start of a gap bridging conversation, that more than once would lure out slips of those same color changing eyes on the very giddy Jewels. Who hoped to be making friends that could last for the next seven years. Every detail memorized to be written down later in both their diaries and letters home.
.
“Who are you?” Bellatrix Lestrange asked Jewels. Who'd just apologized for bumping into her arm on the way to the numerous first years in a swarmed mess to be lined up for the boat ride ahead.
“Jewelia Evans,” she replied. Almost sounding like a question at the break in her voice to the intently staring girl who had noticed those same eyes right away.
“Be nice to the Muggle-Born Bella.” Barty spoke up as he came to take Jewelia’s side. Kindly patting the startled redhead’s back to comfort and show support.
“Don’t lie to me, Crouch.” Bellatrix uttered. And when he stepped away from Jewels he led the darker haired witch aside. To stop what he knew could only escalate and make the Muggle raised girl more uncomfortable.
“Right up to the front,” Lily urged and tugged both sister and Severus along into view of Rubeus Hagrid. The groundskeeper who helped the trio into a boat one at a time. Every inch of his half giant frame ready to catch any child with uncertain footing.
“Why are we taking boats?” Jewels whispered to Severus to Lily’s settle into the front seat of the boat. The question made Rubeus smile and offer his hand next to her.
“Never quite got a response myself my first year. For the view, my guess.” His reply accented with a chuckle.
.
“Gryffindor!” Proud Lily was the first of the trio sorted. And to the shock of everyone there the next child with the nearest birthday was called. Not Jewels who smiled at the sister she assumed to be joining at the clapping table soon. A belief shared by the boy who went to take a seat at the same table. Leaving room for the identical sister between him and Lily for that assumption.
“Slytherin.” Severus off his turn at the stool was watched by the still lingering sister. Her being whispered about by many throughout the crowd to be sorted and those at their assigned tables. Without a glance back on his path to the clapping table to take up the seat beside a soon to be named, dual hair colored, Narcissa Black.
Barty had even gotten sorted. And gave the anxious girl a pat on the arm on his way towards his seat at the Slytherin table. Once there he asked the girls beside Severus to kindly scoot over so he could sit down. All so he could ask the best friend, “Why wasn’t Jewelia called after Lily?”
“Jewels was adopted.” The answer dawned on Barty and those within earshot at the much welcomed explanation.
“Oh that clears it all up,” and Barty let out a relieved chuckle, “No Muggle could pull that off.” Instantly luring Severus to look directly at him. Instead of James Potter and Sirius Black who had been inching closer to the girl left behind Remus had been keeping equally anxious company in their wait.
“Hmm,” three minutes the sorting hat sat silent atop her head. No longer in deep reflection but merely in awe at the odd slew of tongue twisters Jewelia had been reciting in her mind to not be a multicolored mess right now in front of the entire student body and staff at the wait for where she belonged.
“Ahem.” Minerva spoke up and the hat opened its cloth fold eyes.
“Yes Minerva?” It replied and arched its head to peer at the Professor who had moved closer to see if she might help move things along.
“Her house?” Minerva asked.
“Aha, yes, a fine adornment for Ravenclaw. Fair penchant for tongue twisters to boot.” Minerva smiled in relief to the eruption of noise from the silver and blue adorned table. Every one of them more than glad to make room for the girl who stumped the hat for so long. Relief swelled and spilled violently throughout the hall and crowd just to leave Jewels so far from Lily and Severus.
“Sirius Black.” The name that came next, another name the girl didn’t recognize out of those left. One by one to be called while she was at a table filled entirely with strangers to her. Friendly but strangers no less.
Through the crowd during the final few, Remus by her was spotted. He drew her focus to a grey feather embroidered black jacket wearing teen seated a bit farther down the Ravenclaw table. To the older teen from his eyes Remus' fingers moved. Right away her lips parted in remembering the fact that had many at her table check between the first years and warn the fifth year of being talked about.
Ted Tonks, who she’d later be able to meet when he helped to guide her and the other first years to their tower. One of the Prefects she’d have ample time to build up the nerve to talk to. Right when his eyes landed on the overly quiet first year he assumed to be nervous he urged his eyes to flicker a few colors mid sudden sprout of his natural ears into those of a bear around his black pointed hat, to try and make her smile. The shock of which had her eyes instantly change to purple widening his smile. Right to her glass she looked so he could have an angle of her eyes that looked green and he let out a chuckle. Forcing his ears and hair back to normal. He straightened up on his seat to share with his friends around him the obvious reason why he was pointed out to her.
Mentally he made note to talk to the girl even if he had to wait for the walk up to the tower to do so. Let her know that even without her sister to room with she wasn’t alone. Sure he was the only one able to change like her he knew of. But amongst the other female student body there were those the boys could feel an unyielding pull to gawk at and shadow to be in their company. Just as soon as she stopped focusing on her sister too engrossed in conversation of the two boys who tried to get inside the train car earlier.
Much like her sister Bellatrix, Andromeda Black, beside her boyfriend Ted, kept a lingering stare at the first year who seemed to have Slytherin's eyes. Marking them as relations of a most perplexing variety if she was born from a pair of Muggles. Yet somehow of stronger connection than the Black line to have inherited that one feature. Those questions would have to wait though as the new girl would be early to bed to rest for the first day of classes and the pair of Prefects were off to their first meeting of the year.
*.*.* Jewels *.*.*
On break between Transfigurations and lunch the first years were let loose to roam the halls at their fancy. Jewelia and Severus walked alone, hoping to find a sunny place to sit and wait as Lily was halls away having a word with the Potions Professor on a weird reaction her hand had to an ingredient to see if it needed a quick remedy or not.
Severus broke the focus she had on more students whispering and nodding her way from the other end of the corridor by saying, “The moody one came down to our dorm last night. Has a cousin in the room across from mine, let him in and gave him a blanket for the couch in the common room.” Jewelia’s brow rose at the curious notion of the perplexing Sirius Black. The boy who seemed to be gaining popularity amongst Gryffindors thanks to his new friend James Potter. A clearly well off Pure-Blood from a family nearly as old as the Black Family. The pair now firm in a group of four boys including curiously enough Remus. The boy who kept to himself nearly as much as she did, somehow tangled up with the pompous Potter Lily now mentioned daily in his tries to get to know her better. “Apparently not all is going swimmingly between the pair.”
Clearly Jewels was on edge, or so he heard, having checked in with a few older Ravenclaw students who said the young eye grabbing co-ed was not being the most talkative since being split from Lily and himself. Even more so when she would take spare time each night after curfew to write to another mysterious sister not attending here others had bets on what magical school she had been accepted at if not here.
And just like a bad egg being stepped on a voice like a foul scent filled the air of the space announcing James Potter here to spoil the assumed calm afternoon. “Mind the balloons Snivellus, wouldn’t want to spoil your only tailored piece of clothing to your pitiful name.” James mocked aloud mid explosion of a balloon charm he cast that coated Severus in colored powder reeking of papaya.
A crack of a broken nose followed and the smug peacock dropped to a hard fist colliding with his face by none other than the now red and gold eyed glowing girl in love with the target of said prank. Bloody handed Jewels stood glaring at the prankster who enraged her. Goading cackles and noises from the students milling by muffled in her ears as her body stood ready to hit him again if he went for his dropped wand. That hand in a fist while her other arm remained locked around her books she hoped to keep in good order for their price for years to come. But not a moment later a startling authoritative shout drew a visible flinch from several.
“EVANS!” Minerva shouted in a determined stride that way. Under the ruckus the sound of Jewels’ books she let free to hide and flee muffled, same as the disappointed sigh from Severus, who bent to collect them to join his own on his way to find where she had raced off to. Unnoticed by Sirius’ wide eyes that followed the clap of hands over the beginnings of a beak on Jewels’ face and her race away. “Soon as you find her send her to my office!” Minerva instructed.
Sirius moved past bloody nosed James to ask the flustered Professor en route to speak to said groaning boy bent forward collapsed onto the stone floor clutching at his throbbing face, “Muggle-Born, right?”
“I beg your pardon, Sirius?” she asked ticking her brow upwards.
“Jewels, she’s supposed to be Muggle-Born?” He clarified the question that nearly everyone of well off lines had asked themselves. A puzzle in human form, showing traits of beings that could not be found ever in Muggle lines causing many to insist they heard from others Severus himself said she was in fact adopted both solving and not solving the perplexing puzzle.
“I don’t rightly see the worth-,” she tried to say but was cut off.
“I think she’s half Veela.” He said dropping the Professor’s jaw. In a pinch of fingers mid tug of that hand away from his lips he motioned a hand to elaborate his point, “Beak, and she glows, and the temper.”
Minerva huffed. Just now realizing the most logical reason why the young girl had been coming off possibly as owner of an unnamed chip on her shoulder requiring spare effort. “That, is a possibility.”
He nodded and said, “I’ll find her a book on it.” Order free he made his way to the library leaving behind James and lanky Remus, the latter leaned against a wall snickering at the sudden change of goals in Sirius. All at this proof of their week long debate on why Jewels seemed to be unmistakably irresistible to look away from. Peter alone was the one to help guide James to the Hospital Wing.
.
Softly Sirius cleared his throat on the other side of the bathroom Jewels was pretending to not be inside of. With his arm nudged the door open enough to levitate the book inside. “I’m sending a book in, don’t damage it or anything. Librarian Pince will raze the school to the ground if her collection is damaged. Thought you might need a few answers.”
Before he guessed it would the door opened and his wide eyed self peered on at the pink cheeked girl with still golden pupils, who held the open book facing him to show what could only be named as an inhuman creature. Two legged but with wings and a bird head to match the talon ended feet and sharply clawed thick knuckled fingers of the rage filled beast. “I am not-,”
“That’s a full Veela,” he blurted out. Then gestured at the stuffed miniature cow shaped stool at his side that she looked to then back up at him again, making him sigh and step aside to reveal a chair with legs that didn’t match in length. “I’m still only able to make wobbly chairs, that’s got four even legs.”
Softly she huffed and eased out of the door to plop down on the cushioned animal stool in demand of answers. Down onto his chair he lowered, extending the plant of his feet at the tilt of the chair to one side he ignored the motion to explain this fuller to the girl who had absolutely no clue what had been happening to her. “Half Veela don’t fully change like that, it, depends on the family line, some countries have different traits. I think it’s twelve chapters in, talks about half Veela. They do have powders for the glow, perfumes for the allure of others, and some shops do have charms to help, with the,” his hand rose to gesture out of his mouth like a beak just making her bashfully cover her mouth with a hand.
“I didn’t mean it, like that,” onto her shoulder his hand moved. “It’s a nice beak, at least the base of it, haven’t seen it full on yet.” At him her eyes glared and he choked out a laugh and cleared his throat again. “James, he can be like my Mum sometimes. Just a light switch. Sudden ignition, no reasoning required. You can’t,” he said and felt his voice taper off in the lock of his eyes on hers to just stare at the eyes so unlike any half Veela line he’d heard of before, but rang close to his own.
The shove into his arm that had him rock unsteadily on his seat snapped his thoughts back to the present. “Stop doing that, everyone in my dorm already stares at me.” Muddled in self pity and uncertainty of what to do with the name of this supposed condition of hers she dropped her eyes to the book now open on her lap. Freeing a full look at the roots of her hair that began to bleed out lime green.
“You’re a Morpher too!” Up at him again her eyes snapped, this was her turn to be the wide eyed one. “Super rare mixture! No wonder the reaction is so reflexive when you get upset!”
“What?” she asked squeaked. Up he stood gesturing his wand, pulled from his pocket, at the cow stool that levitated behind him to head for the library not far away from this rarely used bathroom. “I can walk…” she stammered out with hands and feet locked on the stool to not fall off at the same time.
“Best you stay on the stool or you might hit someone again. Professor wants to talk to you still you know, trouble maker you.” He joked, turning his head back to flash her a quick wink trying to calm her down in the wait of this newly added fact.
But at the end of the proper aisle inside the library he helped her down to share the system to her organizing the rows on various conditions that were inherited through magical lines. “Metamorphmagus. Gobblety gook word for shape shifters. Your body hits a rage and that kicks off to fill out what the blood knows to be a hidden side of you.” Pulling out the proper book he had been in search of.
Up at him she looked and timidly asked, “They don’t, lock those up, do they?”
Over her face he looked in concern and shook his head. “No. No they don’t. Muggles might not ever think they’re actually real outside of science fiction or fairy tales, but they are, just regular people who are able to change how they look, people, animals, creatures even if they practice enough. Like that Prefect Tonks who’s dating my cousin. So maybe, now you know what’s going on it might help, with the-,”
“You lift your hand I’m going to punch you.” She said luring a wide smile across his face.
“Detention, in the least. Now, I’m gonna take you to Professor,” and he moved to the side of the stool to pat the head on it winning a sigh from her in return for the action. “Or I could be labeled an accomplice and end up in the desk beside you. And think of the misery in that, spending an entire evening with me at your side.” That had her plop back onto the cow and he smiled again, “Thank you, from the deepest cockles of my heart for sparing me and yourself the cruelest of evenings party to my company in shared misery of the foulest of tasks.”
“A bit thick,” she muttered and he chuckled, going to check out the second book for her to borrow so he could hover her to the stern but understanding Professor. Who for most of the time until dinner would share all she could to fill in gaps, including hand over an order form for some Veela products to help with the most troublesome traits Minerva herself would foot the bill for and keep up to date on check ins to see how they would help in day to day issues. Sheepishly the teen spoke up to Minerva’s inquest on any more questions to ask, “Does any of this help with the nightmares?”
“Nightmares?” Minerva asked straightening up, “Concerning what precisely?”
“There’s a woman, and she’s locked away, alone, I keep seeing her. She can’t get out. She looks like me.”
Minerva over the top of the desk leaned in to rest a hand on top of Jewels’, “How often do you have this dream?”
“Seven years. Few times a month in the least.”
Minerva’s mouth opened a moment and she nodded, prompt to stand on her feet and offer a hand. “Come with me. Divinations Professor Onai is best to play council to these dreams of yours, and if not her we shall inquire upon a Centaur of the herd in the dark forest.” A possible Seer of limited capabilities, just foreboding dreams apparently linked to a single trapped woman they couldn’t name in any way was the given and unhelpful prognosis. The solution, nightly rituals to help and dampen the frequency of said dreams at least were added amongst the new tasks for detention each night until the window of punishment had run out.
Tricks easy enough for her to carry on all on her own, but not alone, soon she would make good on her self made plan to sneak into the forbidden forest to find the Centaur herd and see what they might have to draw out of the dream. A plan successful in that she got her answer, the trapped woman is a ghost of some power to her past. A guiding spirit instilling warnings of things to avoid muddled by lack of knowledge on how to share the pain precisely beyond the dividing veil. To the Muggle side of her upbringing it rang closer to a guardian angel, and like their biblical counterparts were equally terrifying as beautiful, so the fact these warnings came to be nightmares shifted a bit less unsettling once seen through that light.
To get out of the castle proved to be a simple task. Sneaking back in however was how she got caught. That trip would spur on a month more detention, through which her absent humming observed by Flitwick would begin a change to her life in a way she would have never guessed while being a student in this magical place.
Pt 4
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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.)
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(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.
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(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.)
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(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.”
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(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.)
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(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.
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(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!!
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